Family Ties
by littlebadhero
Summary: A collection of One Shots about Christian and Ana set in a Romeo and Juliet type of mob world. AxC, AU, OOC, Mob.
1. Brunch affairs

**Hola.**

 **Holy One Shot with 11000+ words!**

 **This is something I couldn't stop thinking about, but since I have too many stories going on already, I couldn't start a new one. So, I thought I could make a One Shot out of it for now. The full story will be posted and written when I finish some of my other stories. Anyway, have fun.**

 **NOT BETAED!**

* * *

 **Family ties**

 **Summary:** No matter how tasty Belgian waffles, Eggs Benedict, French Toast or Mimosas are, I don't enjoy one second of this brunch. I would rather get shot. AxC, AU, OOC, Mob.

The swing squeaks underneath my weight as I swing back and forth slowly, my shoes brushing over the dusty floor, their leather dirty from the fresh grass around the playground. I probably shouldn't have picked white pumps, knowing well that I always end up here, the playground my safe haven in the middle of the otherwise holy place. Ironically, churches feel like hell to me, that's why even their small, rusty playgrounds designed for kids are a welcomed distraction. I close my eyes and lean my head against one of the metal chains of the swing, my brown waves of hair brushing my hips, a small smile curling my lips. I raise my feet to the air, now swinging fast, faster, the fastest, hoping that I could swing into a different time zone, a different land, a different galaxy even. Anything that could save me from my own, personal hell is appreciated. If I could swing toward the sky and reach a new galaxy, I would hug aliens tighter than I hug some members of my own family.

The sun kisses my skin, failing to warm my limbs, the midnight blue chiffon dress I am wearing a disadvantage without a coat. The wind is chilly, typical for a late April day, the smell of rain and grass filling my nostrils each time it blows. I should have listened to my aunt, her advise to take my coat with me now sounding wise. If she could hear me right now, she would give me her famous long look, her hazel eyes shaming you to the ground. She is already pissed because I dared to leave before the mass ended, something very rude to do apparently, but I have stopped caring about God and his fury a long time ago. If there was a God, I dared him to do his worst. Again, if my aunt could hear me right now, she would put me on fire with her glare.

Blasphemy isn't tolerated in my family, it's the most horrible thing you can do, even killing a family member doesn't beat it. Now, I wouldn't call myself an Atheist, but I also wouldn't call myself religious. I had lost my faith in God and religion as soon as my mother was buried many years ago, when I had been just a little girl who dutifully prayed every night before going to bed. Even though I had been so dedicated to the big guy above, even though I had walked his line like my family had wanted me to, he hadn't given a shit about my prayers when he took my mother from me. She had been at the hospital for three days straight, three days she had fought against death when it tried to take her from life thanks to a bullet wound, three days long I had prayed to God, begging him not to take my mother from me, begging him to let her live, but in the end, I was forced to visit her grave.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in God, but I don't think he gives a shit about us.

"You only care about yourself, don't you?" I mumble, knowing well that he is listening, the sky is his eyes, the wind is his ears. He loves looking down at us, maybe that gives him confidence and power, more than he already has.

"Do you ever regret the things you did to innocent people?" I ask with a frown, not expecting an answer since I am just as small as an unimportant grain of sand in the universe he has created. He only answers those he wants to.

I open my eyes and, ironically, the first thing I see is the cross hanging on the high steeple. I snort, looking now at the empty swing beside me, memories of my childhood coming to my mind. My brothers and I had been allowed to play at this playground exactly five minutes long each Sunday, before our nannies picked us up as if playing on a playground for longer than five, stupid minutes was life-threatening. Afterward, nanny number 3, who was responsible for me, would make sure that I didn't look like I just had fun on the playground, before she accompanied me to the one thing, I hated the most: the weekly brunch following the Sunday mass.

Imagine this: a room full of families from different ethnicities, who are in a love and hate relationship with each other, their men looking all serious and ready to shoot anyone who makes a wrong move, their women laughing and sharing recipes while ignoring the awkward tension professionally, their annoying kids, myself included, running around while screaming loudly just like kids are supposed to do, all of this around admittedly yummy Brunch food, sponsored by _The Heathman_ Hotel in Kirkland. It was hilarious how these men were sitting on the same benches inside the same church, lying to the same God as they promised to cherish life and all the living, while they practically were trying to take each other down the rest of the time. I can't exactly remember having read about drugs, prostitution, murder and thievery in the bible, but these men must have read a copy, I don't know about. Maybe the big guy above has a guys only version, written by a killer for killers. A killers only special.

It is like high school all over again, a Mean Girls showdown between different suit wearing, gun toting, sophisticated men with their multi-member families in tow, all polished to look their very best since appearance was the most important thing after God.

In their world, everything revolves around what people see when they look at you – or more like, what you let people see. You have a problem? Don't show it. You are sick and will most likely die by the end of the year? Don't show it. You have a broken heart and feel like killing your ex? Don't show it.

You don't give a shit about all of this?

Don't. Fucking. Show. It.

Apparently, even if you are the daughter of a killer, you are expected to be a perfect, smiling, never frowning, never annoyed lady. You can't let down your mask, unless you want people to see your weaknesses, but that wouldn't be very wise, since everyone is yawing to find your weaknesses. If you show your weak spot, you will put your whole family, the whole dynasty, in danger. And nobody likes to be in danger, and when they find out that you are the reason for it, they will probably not like you, either.

The one and only rule is pretty simple: Don't do anything that could put you or your family in danger.

Danger could mean anything. It reaches from kidnapping to execution, gun toting men could be very creative with that. Usually, women and children are safe from attacks, unless things get really ugly, then they make an exception. Killers who have manners, I know how abstract that sounds, but honor is also something that means a lot to them. And family. And God. And pride.

Basically anything they could use as an excuse to kill each other.

 _I am killing you because you disrespected me._

 _I am killing you because you hurt my pride._

 _I am killing you because you tainted my family's reputation._

 _I am killing you in the name of God._

I wonder why said God is allowing them to play God on earth. Shouldn't he put them on fire? Doesn't that count as blasphemy, too? It's okay when they decide over life and death like God, but if I doubt him and his decisions, I will go to hell?

Yeah. I doubt that too.

To be honest, the aspect of burning in hell doesn't scare me at all. I have been surviving hell since the day I was born into this world. Being a part of my father's dynasty is only the tip of my metaphorical iceberg.

Raymond Timur Stepanow, my father unfortunately, is the head of the Russian Alliance, a gang of rough, Vodka drinking, mad Russians who paid little men to do their dirty jobs like dealing with drugs or killing innocent and not so innocent people. He was only nineteen years old, when he left Mother Russia and his life there behind, to begin a new life in the States. Although, it looks like he was trying to run away from his roots, his family name is something he is very proud of. It was all he had when he came to the States many years ago, when his valet had been empty, but his heart full of ambitions. By meeting the right – or wrong, depends on how you look at it – people at the right time, Raymond had managed to work his way up, starting as a henchman until he built his own dynasty. The Stepanow's quickly became the top of the huge, complicated family tree of the mafia world of the Western World, their cousins and grandchildren distributed around the States.

In my opinion, we are too many, and I would gladly suggest which one's we can get rid off. It's hard to love every relative in a big family.

Speaking of family.

"Anastasia, darling." Aunt Valentina's loud voice makes me sigh out loud, knowing well that my peaceful minutes are over. I look up toward her, watching her gracefully walk over the grass-covered floor, her posture straight and her painted lips pursed. I wonder what God is thinking about her slutty red lipstick. The salmon-colored dress she is wearing is hugging her tightly, her long legs looking even longer thanks to the pumps she is wearing. Like every Russian woman, she is using the excuse of an important event and carries her fur coat around her shoulders. If you want to be a part of a Russian mob family, you have to own a few of these. The more you have, the more you are envied. Fuck PeTA, right?

My face kinda resembles hers, at least my grandmother said so, her hair though lighter than my brown mess, her eyes hazel and not blue as mine. I guess, you could say that we have the same nose and lips, but that's it. And I certainly don't resemble her character-wise, thank God.

"What is it about this stupid playground and you?" She asks me, her Russian accent thick. I know well that she can speak accent free, but since she believes that it sounds sexy, she uses it whenever she can – even while reading Bible verses. Is she trying to seduce her way into heaven? I have no idea.

She doesn't wait for an answer.

"Father Welsh was disappointed with you, but that's nothing new." She scolds me motherly, her hands at her hips. I squint my eyes at her since she is standing right in front of the sun, just grinning like an idiot, knowing well that it will annoy her. I try not to laugh out loud, when she rolls her eyes in a frustrated gesture.

"You father was disappointed, too. You better apologize to him." She says, holding her coat's collar with her hands, her rings and bracelets glistening underneath the sunlight. A Russian woman can never have too many accessories.

"He should be used to it by now. And if he isn't, it's his loss." I answer with a shrug. She smacks her lips, huffing with a head shake. Her reactions are as dramatic as herself. She likes attracting attention, she loves to make everyone look at her with envy or sheer appreciation.

"Guard your tongue! Don't you ever talk about your own father like this, okay? If his own daughter can't show him respect, why should the rest of the world do so?" She mutters with a frown, her plucked brows furrowed, her hazel eyes glowing with the fire deep inside them. Like every woman in our family, she has quite a temper.

I keep my answers to her questions to myself as I get up from the swing I was sitting on, trying to brush away the creases in my dress with my hands.

"Dear God, your shoes look awful." My aunt notes as her eyes land on my white pumps, the tips of them a little green thanks to the grass.

"I have an extra pair in the trunk of my car. Good thing, we have the same shoe size." She is really good at talking to herself, totally ignoring my silence. I think she prefers me silent, she can deal better with it than my smartass remarks. I follow her dutifully to the parked cars around the corner, where the congregation has already crowded the parking spot, the mass officially over. My father and my brothers are standing beside our cars, their armed men protecting them from everyone else. I am halfway in the act of rolling my eyes because of their exaggerated behavior since I doubt that anyone would shoot each other in front of a church, but then I remember that these men are just not any men. It's probably wise to protect oneself with so many enemies around.

"Anastasia." My father's tone is scolding, just like his glare. I feel like a little girl again, but I put on my grown-up woman mask as I give him a polite, _I'm really sorry for being the black sheep of the family_ smile. I peck his cheek, giving him the whole puppy dog eyes package I have mastered in the last few years, knowing well that his anger will vanish immediately.

"I'm sorry, father. I wasn't feeling well." Like every Sunday.

"At least try to disappear without getting caught." He mutters, his cheeks reddening. I look too much like my mother for him to be angry at me more than five minutes. It's a fact that I make use of a lot, and also something that angers my aunt.

"You can't just disappear from mass." She says with pursed lips. He silences her with a raised hand, his gray hair falling down to his crinkled forehead. He has the same eye color as me, his eyes are his trademark, they can make you squirm and dread your life with just one look.

"Come on, boys. Let's take these ladies to Brunch." He says, now turning to my brothers, Ethan and Paul, who more look like bodyguards than family members. They are twins, Paul is exactly four minutes older, and since they shared a womb, they are inseparable. I fear that they have made lots of first experiences together. Yuck.

Aunt Valentina and I share a car, while my brothers and my father share another one. The other members of our family, my cousins and uncles and aunts, some even not by blood, follow our convoy dutifully. The way to the Heathman Hotel takes longer than it actually would, but if fifty cars drive to the same destination out of the blue, of course, there is going to be some traffic.

"Look at these showoffs." My aunt mumbles as she looks outside her side's window, her eyes squeezed as they focus on the flashy sports car next to us. I look up from my task of changing pumps – she had a fitting extra pair of cream ones for me – and recognize the car immediately. It's a model I would recognize even with closed eyes, its motor's humming like a melody in my ears, I have a thing for shiny, black and fast cars – a Bugatti Veyron.

It also belongs to one of the Trevisan Grey's.

The Trevisan Grey's are an old, Italian family who are an important part of the mob world, since they are the second biggest family and the most powerful participant of arms trade. They have their fingers in all sort of pies and they are pretty good at what they do, too, which is why my father detests them with passion. Our families have been rivals since… well, nobody knows for sure, to be honest. We also don't know who started it, or what was the reason for this rivalry, but too much time had passed to think about stuff like that now. Men don't need much reasons to hate and kill each other.

Unlike my family, the Trevisan Grey's had added an American surname to their name since they wanted to be a part of the American society. My father thought of their gesture to be disrespectful against their roots. I had tried to persuade him to let me take an American surname, too, since I didn't want people to be scared off by his family name, but he had made it very clear that this wasn't an option.

"A man who forgets his roots, is no honest man, Anastasia." He had told me sternly.

I had kept my snarky comment to myself, thinking that I was no man and I certainly had no problem with forgetting my roots.

"It's just a car, Aunt Valentina." I say with a shrug, turning my head away. I hear her huff, knowing well that she is just looking for an excuse to talk shit about them. Our families love to be real dickheads toward each other, something I don't share with them. I don't see the point of our stupid rivalry and if it was up to me, I would have ended it a long time ago, but both sides are insisting on being assholes, so the rivalry still stands. I barely participate, but if they cross me, I don't back down, either.

My rule is simple, too. If you don't want me to be a bitch to you, then don't be a bitch to me.

"Who is driving it?" She mutters, trying to get a clearer view. Good thing, that our windows are dark, otherwise she would get caught nosily stalking. I roll my eyes at her.

"Dimitri? Do you know who this car belongs to?" She asks our chauffeur, a young boy in his early twenties, obviously too young to be a part of this world. I wonder how he managed to end up as my father's chauffeur. I see how he looks to his left from the corner of his eyes, before they are back on the street in front of him.

"Christian Hagan Trevisan Grey, I think, ma'am." He answers politely.

"With a car this pretentious, he must have a tiny dick." My aunt mumbles vitriolically, making me giggle. I love when she talks dirty, it surely is far more interesting than her _goody two-shoes_ persona.

"You better not tell your father that I gave a Grey more attention than he deserves." She says to me with a pleading look. I roll my eyes at her fear, I don't know why she lets her brother control her so much, I would never let Paul or Ethan tell me how to live my life and they know better than to even think about it. My brothers and I have confusing relationship, I wouldn't say that we hate each other, but I am not entirely sure if we love each other enough. Maybe our different mindsets make us question our love for each other, after all they are obedient soldiers of my father and I don't can get over the fact that they kill when he tells them to kill. Like every brother and sister relationship, we try to get along by continuous ribbing based on sarcasm and snarky remarks.

"He won't hear a peep from me." I assure her, nodding toward our chauffeur. "What about Dimitri?"

I don't think Dimitri will be a snitch, but I just love to make her nervous.

"Oh, don't worry about the boy." She chuckles, a knowing expression on her face, before she leans down to pat his cheek with her manicured hands. "He won't tell anything."

Dimitri's eyes widen as he looks at her from the rear-view-mirror, a blush spreading on his cheeks.

"No, I won't, ma'am." He whispers, gulping hardly. Oh boy. I think she is fucking him. My father better not hear about this, I don't think he would let Dimitri fuck his beloved sister.

"Good boy." She says with a sensual smile, making me irk. Yuck. Don't get me wrong, my aunt is a pretty woman in her late forties, but there are some things I don't want to imagine her doing – for example, the too young chauffeur.

Twenty minutes later, when we finally arrive at the Heathman, there is a line of expensive cars heading up the driveway, the Bugatti Veyron is one of them. Dutifully, Dimitri, who is still sporting red cheeks and shy stares toward my aunt, parks the car in our reserved spot right beside my brothers and father. Ethan is nice enough to get my door for me, I thank him with a polite smile, although I could have opened that damn thing myself. Aunt Valentina makes me wear my fur coat, telling me that I need to enter the dining hall with it since it clearly shows prestige. I don't argue with her, the likelihood of persuading a nun to have a lesbian relationship with me is higher than talking sense into my own aunt.

Like in an overrated, Hollywood movie, we walk up the golden stairs leading to the dining hall where our weekly Brunch is hosted. With my brothers and father dressed in tailored suits and my aunt and me dressed in chic dresses and fur coats, we manage to turn in a dramatic entrance. I want to roll my eyes desperately, but as soon as the doors open for us, everyone turns their head to see who is coming. I know better than to fail my perfectly trained mask at the very first second, I have a couple of hours to get through. We follow my father to our usual table and sit down, I'm on his right and Aunt Valentina on his left, just like he prefers it.

Just like these people act like as if they are the Queen Bee's of high school, they also have a very prepubertal seating chart, which determines where the big shots sit. If you ask every family individually, they would say that they are the one and only highly regarded royalty here, the others just superfluous pests.

Humility?

No chances.

"Tzz. Look at what Aideen is wearing." My aunt whispered to me with an arrogant expression, as her eyes scanned a tall, red-haired woman sitting two tables away from us. That woman belongs to the Hynes family, she is a member of the small but mighty Irish dynasty. The Irish and we have done lots of business in the past, and I am sure that it will stay that way, since we share a passionate obsession: We hate everything that is Italian.

But that doesn't stop my aunt from gossiping.

"She shouldn't wear a white dress with that skin color. For Gucci's sake, she looks like a ghost." Aunt Valentina goes on, her criticizing eyes looking at every detail. When Aideen looks up and their eyes cross, they smile politely at each other and wave ambivalently. I roll my eyes at her behavior and turn away from her, my father is a welcomed distraction.

"Put on a smile, Anastasia." He says as soon as our eyes cross. "You need to show the world your beautiful smile. Maybe it will turn into a less ugly place."

I smile at him, my _I'm your sweet, innocent daughter_ smile, although internally I am groaning annoyed. The world would be less ugly if people with ugly hearts wouldn't walk on it.

"Father, the Grey's arrived." Paul says from the other side of the table, a serious expression on his pale face, his dark blonde hair in a short ponytail. The tension on our table thickens as we watch our mortal enemies – at least, that's what my family calls them – walk in, in slow motion and elegantly. The head of their family, Carrick Carlito Trevisan Grey, a middle-aged man with grayish hair and a sharp jaw, leads the group of well-dressed, for Italians surprisingly tall, arrogant looking people to their table, the farthest one away from us. His wife, Grace Adalina Trevisan Grey, is a natural, Italian beauty with glossy, caramel colored hair and pearly white teeth showing thanks to her smile. They have three children, two boys and one girl, all very beautiful and immensely arrogant.

Their oldest child is Elliott Maceo Trevisan Grey, a muscular, bulky man with a goofy grin and dimples, although he has the personality of a pubertal teenage boy, he is a man to be afraid of, a man who could kill you with his bare hands. One time, he took a whole armed group down by himself, sans gun. The bloody mess he left behind that day, is still a huge topic, since then people have named him _The Beast._

The middle child is Christian Hagan Trevisan Grey – tall, lean, and beautiful. He has a sharp jaw, and a sharp mind just like his father, he is famous for his games, his brilliantly planned games and strategies. His father uses him for the well thought out businesses, for the big games, because he is as deadly as beautiful he is. Apparently, his father made sure that he was a master of guns, he never missed.

Their youngest child is Elena Isabella Trevisan Grey, a breathtaking, hour glass shaped young woman with pouty, red painted lips and mesmerizing brown eyes. She is also a huge bitch, but since people only care about appearance, she gets away with it. As kids, we used to play weekly at our Sunday Brunch, but soon enough, she grew into a bitch, so our friendship ended.

I don't have a raging ire against Italians like the rest of my family, but Elena pushes all the kind of wrong buttons in me. I wish I was as strong as her big brother, Elliott, so I could kill her with my bare hands.

"Will we greet them?" Ethan asks calmly, always keeping his cool. Paul snorts, shaking his head.

"I'm not going to there table." He says, looking at my father for approval.

"Neither am I." My father says, smiling at Paul with pride. "We will wait for them to come to us."

"I don't think they will come to our table, either." I say, immediately earning a warning look from my aunt, it's saying _'don't interfere in men's business'_. As a woman, I have to keep my mouth shut when men are talking, according to her. The men ignore my comment as they keep starring angrily at the Italian family, whose male members stare equally angry back. The tension between them is so thick and loaded, that it might be mistaken for sexual tension. I snort at that thought, knowing well that it would infuriate both sides.

"Raymond, old friend." Suddenly my internal hilarious joke is interrupted by a short, dark haired man with a black mustache hanging down on both sides of his mouth, his white teeth contrasting his olive skin. By the way he is dressed, it's easy to tell that he belongs to _Los Amigos_ , a Mexican gang full of drug lords and pimps. He is wearing their trademarkpurple scarf around his neck, his suit at least one size too big and his cologne smells too strong, making me grimace.

"Alejandro, it's good to see you. How are your wife and children?" My father asks politely as they shake hands. They chitchat as if they haven't seen each other in a long time, although in reality, they have had the same conversation just last Sunday. Alejandro tells us about his wife, Maria, who is back from her vacation in Mexico, where she visited family and brought her sister along. Apparently, he wants to get her married, he says this while looking at my brothers with a meaningful look. I see how Paul shudders behind his back, making me giggle.

Bored to death, I pick up my Blackberry from my purse – my one and only escape from this boring ass Brunch. After I check up on my city on _Simcity_ and use all my lives on _Candy Crush –_ yes, I know, it's an old one, but it's also a classic, okay? -, I look around and see that nobody has his eyes on me. I use the opportunity to check my emails and stuff. No new emails or texts for me. Hmpf.

"Anastasia, the food is served. Let's get us something." My aunt taps my shoulder, making me look up from my phone. She nods toward the buffet where the black and white wearing waiters and waitresses have served all kind of Brunch food: fresh, warm Belgian Waffles served with all kind of fruits, delicious smelling Eggs Benedict with toasted bread, French Toast with the chef's special ingredient – I have found out that he uses truffle oil -, and of course, the most important beverage ever, the excuse for grown-ups to drink alcohol for breakfast: Mimosas. As always, the ladies are the first to go because killers have manners, ladies first and all that crap. My aunt and I follow the wife of Alejandro and her sister, Aunt Valentina is all over them as soon as we meet up at the omelet station, where I inspect the different type of omelets – with cheese, with ham, with ham and cheese, with tomatoes, you name it, they have it – while they chitchat about upcoming weeks charity gala, something that is hosted by Grace Adalina Trevisan Grey. Since it is socially expected, my aunt has been invited by the hostess personally, her phone call had roiled our house. I know Aunt Valentina well enough to know that she will only attend the charity gala because, a) it is expected since she was invited, and b) she won't miss the chance to criticize a Grey.

I ignore their chatter professionally by concentrating on the yummy food in front of me, my plate slowly filling with a croissant, some fruits and chocolate sauce. I contemplate making second plate, since I clearly want to try everything, but I decide that I would be the party rumor if I take too much food at once. People would probably say that I am pregnant, or something, and I really don't need that type of talk. Even if God's ire didn't put me on fire until now, my father's would when he found out that I am having illegitimate sex. He is never a fan of my boyfriends.

"Anastasia." I look up, seeing Maria staring at me with her big, brown eyes, a sweet smile on her full lips. I wonder why a woman as beautiful as her is with someone like Alejandro. I mean, he is rich as fuck, but he is also weird as unappealing as he looks.

"You look fabulous. Is this dress from Dior?" She asks me with her curious eyes wandering over my blue dress, her Spanish accent sounding alluring. I follow her glare and stare at my blue, chiffon dress which reaches my mid-thighs and has no sleeves. It's middle part is hugging my hips tightly, making the skirt extending into a bell shape. I'm wearing nude, transparent tights underneath it and a shiny necklace around my neck. My hair is falling down to my shoulders in glossy waves, a product of my early hair saloon visit, thanks to my aunt.

"Oh, yes. It's from next summer's collection." I tell her politely, instinctively brushing over the soft fabric with my free hand, the other one is holding my plate.

"Tzz. That's from the fall's collection, not summer." I hear how somebody huffs behind me, making me turn my head with squeezed eyes toward that rude person. And just like I have expected, it's no one else than Elena Isabella Trevisan Grey, aka the biggest bitch on earth. She is dressed in an admittedly pretty, nude colored dress with long tight sleeves and a modest collar showing only her collarbones, but the way the dress hugs her curves makes it sinful. Her blonde hair is combed back at one side and hold back with an immense, Vintage looking hairpin. In her hands, she is holding a plate full of Crepes and fruits. Our eyes cross, her green eyes burning with an intense fire from deep inside, her hate is visible.

"Good morning, Elena." I say sweetly, although I am nothing but sweet toward her. I would rather dunk her in acid. "Is there a problem with your Crepes or why aren't they tamping your cakehole yet?"

I should get some Crepes myself, I think. Dammit, Ana. Focus.

"Good morning, Anastasia. My Crepes are fine, thank you very much. They would make a great view on your face." She says equally sweetly. Her friends, some Italian girls I don't know the names of, chuckle standing behind her. Great. She has sidekicks. I only have Maria, who looks really frightened. Her sister and Aunt Valentina have made their way toward the table where a waiter is serving Mimosas.

I can't let the Italian snake win, I will have to take her by myself.

"And I am sure they will create a great view on your hips. Every man loves some love handles, right?" I give her the full, innocent puppy dog eyes look, watching her narrow her eyes at me, an unattractive blush spreading on her neck. It looks like a rash. Don't get me wrong, I have no problems with love handles and I am certainly not trying to defend the idea that every woman has to look like a _Victoria Secret Angel,_ but I know that it will annoy her and her superficial ass.

"You are such a Russian doll. So full of yourself!" She spits out furiously, her sidekicks gasp as if she has given the comeback of the year. I roll my eyes at her, feeling how Maria tenses behind me. She probably suspects me going thermonuclear on Elena's ass, but I have something she doesn't have: class.

"And that is such an overused remark. Just like you." I go for the overkill with a smug grin, feeling like somebody should snap every time I say something. Her mouth – or cakehole, call it whatever you want – opens and closes, and before she can throw her plate at me, I roll my eyes and turn away from her, sashaying away with a roar inside my chest.

I really love this feeling.

"That was so intense." Maria whispers to me as we walk away from the speechless Elena and Co.

"That was nothing. Trust me." I answer her with a cocky grin, my eyebrow raised. Elena and I had far more interesting cat fights in the past, like the one time, we met at a college pool party and when we nearly drowned in the pool since we were trying to slam-dunk each other. Now, that was intense. It was also embarrassing, since someone had filmed the whole thing and named it _Cat fight in Bikinis HOT_ and put it on YouTube. Ray and Carrick had been on the same page after a really long time, when they made sure that _Luckygoblin1982 –_ the account name – didn't see daylight again.

"What did Elena want?" My aunt asks me as soon as I sit down, a disapproving look on her face. On my way back to our table, I have got myself a crystal glass of Mimosa, thanking the cute looking waiter with a dazzling smile. He nearly let the bottle of Champagne in his hands fall. I take a sip of my drink, before I answer my aunt.

"The usual. Polite declaration of hate." I roll my eyes and dig in to my food, it really tastes delicious. Aunt Valentina snorts, shaking her head.

"I hope you let her taste her own medicine." She says, cutting her ham and cheese omelet with the silver cutlery. The Heathman has gone all out, using only the best of the best, even the stupid napkins feel like cashmere. Meanwhile, my father and my brothers return with their enormously filled plates, making me envy them. When men eat like pigs, nobody talks behind their backs. Hmpf.

"I made sure that she doesn't enjoy her Crepes." I giggle softly, my eyes wandering toward the table, the blonde snake is sitting at, and I am right, she doesn't look like she is enjoying her food. I laugh out loud when I see her playing with her food, pushing it back and forth on her plate. My aunt follows my look, and shakes her head with a smug grin.

"I heard that she has a new coach. She is doing kickboxing." My aunt whispers to me. Good thing, I didn't get to see her newly found abilities as a kick boxer, then. My pretty face feels thankful.

"What happened to the last one?" I ask curiously, blaming Elena for bringing out the worst in me: a tattletale. My eyes wander to the men at our table, but thank God, they are oblivious to our conversation. My father doesn't like us talking about the Grey's, he doesn't want to give them more attention than they deserve.

"Her brothers kicked him out when they found out that she was more than friendly with him." She giggles. "It's a wonder that she is allowed to go outside after that stunt."

"Yes, how dare she have sex?" I ask, the sarcasm thick in my voice. No matter, how much we detest each other, I still can't cope with the idea that she is being treated like a kid by her misogynistic brothers. What's so wrong with a grown-up woman having a healthy sex life? What is it about men and their irrational idea of protecting their female relatives' virtue? My eyes wander back to the table of the Grey's, where they are all seated with their food in front of them, chitchatting and laughing at each others words. They look like a happy family, but that could also be a mask since in this world, appearance is everything. My eyes stare holes into the heads of Elena's brothers, I am judging their behavior with pursed lips and squeezed eyes. Suddenly, I am looking into a gray pair of eyes, their intensity surprising me as much as the blush spreading on my cheeks. Christian is starring at me, his beauty making me blush, because even though he is the enemy, he is still a hot motherfucker. I raise one of my eyebrows at him, before turning my head away from him. The last thing I need is a stare down with a Grey.

"Anastasia. We are taking pictures. Smile." I hear my father say and dutifully, I look up from my plate to smile at the photographer who is patiently waiting for everyone to pose. He is from the _Seattle Times_ , because killers and drug lords always make the first page. Nothing more interesting than a room of people who would gladly kill each other.

"I will cut the picture out and put it in our Brunch album." My aunt tells me enthusiastically, as if we don't have enough of them already. But I guess that is her way to kill time, she never has worked a day in her life, her only job was to look socially acceptable on events. She was married once, but her husband died at a gunfire, and when my father had proposed to get her married again, she had declined, not wanting to be with someone else than poor Uncle Claus, she loved him too much to be with someone else. What a sad life.

Unlike her, I have not allowed my father to tell me how I have to spend my time, I know he has a weakness for me and I made use of that when I persuaded him to let me go to college and open my own restaurant afterward. Okay, he has paid for all of that crap, but I am slowly paying it back, because I don't want my future to be build on his dirty money. Now, I am the proud owner of a small restaurant in the heart of Seattle, which is specialized on Russian food. I love to cook, my first teacher had been my own mother before she died, and afterward our cook had taken over my lessons. Later, after my high school graduation, I persuaded my father to let me stay at my Uncle's place in Russia, so I could get some private lessons by Russia's number one, five star cook. He agreed begrudgingly, only if my brothers were allowed to show up whenever they wanted, a pathetic trick to scare me off from misbehaving. I had nothing to hide back then, so I gladly agreed.

After the whole photo shooting extravaganza, a few of our other relatives show up to sit with us. We usually don't sit with them while eating, only accepting them to our table afterward, not because we are arrogant, but otherwise our table would be too full and my father enjoys his food in silence. I politely talk to my cousins, asking them about their days and stuff, but actually not caring. It's expected from me to talk to them, so I do what I have to do. I feel like I have to listen to my father, until I pay my debts. That's why I dutifully put on a pretty dress and smile and show up each Sunday, expect the church part, that's where my limits lie. My father doesn't understand it, neither does he respect it completely, but we have come to a silent agreement: I stop making scenes, he lets me have some privileges.

"The wedding is next year. I have already picked out a dress, but I might change my mind, because I am doubting that eggshell is really my color." Cousin Darya tells me cheerfully. She has asked me to be one of her bridesmaids, but that doesn't have to do anything about our relationship, it's more her way to kiss my ass.

"I'm sure you will look beautiful." I smile at her encouragingly, although I have my doubts about an eggshell dress on her. My Blackberry vibrates in my purse, I get it out to look at its screen, a new text message from an unknown number.

 **You can't look away just like that when I am looking at you.**

I frown at my phone, the text irritating me. What the hell?

My phone vibrates again, another text message.

 **Don't frown. Your pretty face will wrinkle sooner.**

My eyebrows are high on my forehead now, I am shocked and a little bit frightened at the thought that someone is watching my every move and deliberately letting me know about it. Goosebumps spread on my skin, the tiny hairs at my neck standing on end as I look around as slowly and unobtrusively as possible to find my stalker. Cousin Darya notices my frown and gives me a questioning look, her chitchat about bridesmaid dresses interrupted by my mood change.

"Everything alright, Ana?" She asks me with a worried expression, probably thinking that I am frowning at her choice of color for the bridesmaid dresses. I have not a problem with wearing pastel pink, as long as she gives me enough alcohol at her wedding reception.

"Yes, everything is alright." I nod, smiling at her. Right on cue, my phone judders.

 **You have a pretty smile.**

Oh for the love of God. This is getting really creepy, I think, biting my lip in worry. I look around, my father is talking furiously with one of my uncles about a new shipment – of what exactly, I am not sure, but I also don't want to know -, my brothers are arm wrestling with our younger cousins, Aunt Valentina has left the table and sits with Maria and her sister now. They are probably gossiping about someone. I don't want to attract attention, since I don't know how my family would react to those stalker texts I am getting. My brothers would probably start a riot, trying to find out who my creepy stalker is and I don't even want to think about what they would do to him. They would probably break all of his bones before they throw him into the harbor, because God forbid that someone is interested in their little sister.

 **Stop biting your lip.**

I have to hide my phone underneath the soft, silky tablecloth, because I can feel Darya's nosy eyes on me. I realize that she won't stop nagging me, if I don't put my phone away, but I am also too curious to stay away from the mysterious texts I am getting. Torn between putting my phone in my purse or trying to read them without attracting attention, I bite my lip, the phone in my hand vibrating again.

 **I told you to stop biting it. Or I will do the same.**

Who the hell is this person, I want to scream out. I don't like getting orders from my own family, and I certainly don't like them from a creepy stalker stranger who pesters me with inappropriate text messages. Furiously, I type an answer.

 _Who the hell are you?_

With a confident grin, I place my phone onto the table – display down, of course – and lean back in my chair, anxiously waiting for an answer. As if my stalker senses my anxiety, he takes his sweet time to send an answer. Meanwhile, Darya tries to engage me in conversation again, but my silence and my visible disinterest are enough to make her shut up – manners be damned. She excuses herself and vanishes in a crowd of people near the bar area. My phone judders, and with it my heart. Here we go.

 **Someone who wants to bite that lip.**

Holy. Shit.

This is becoming interesting and sinful. Sinfully interesting. Something tells me that I should put my phone away and forget about, better block the number even, but like I said before, God is not something I am a fan of and everything that is wrong according to him, feels appealing to me. No matter how many times I have to pretend to be a goody two shoes in front of my family, in the end, I am something else. My curiosity wins and I quickly type an answer, checking my surroundings out of the corner of my eye. No one is looking at me, everybody seems busy with whatever they are doing.

 _Maybe if you tell me who you are, I might let you._

It's bold, but I guess I want the person to taste their own medicine. As soon as I press send, I look around to see who looks at their phone, but since there are obviously too many people here, I don't catch anyone. Dammit.

 **Don't make promises you can't hold, little girl.**

Little girl? This person better not be a geezer. I feel disgusted at the thought of sexting – because that's what this thing is turning into, let's be honest – with an old man. Wait. From where does he or she have my number? It has to be someone I know, I think, or someone has just super stalker abilities. Considering the people I am surrounded by, I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few hackers underneath them. My father has a hacker, I know that, hell, even I could have a hacker myself if I wanted to. It's easy to find one and it's easier to make them work for you with all the money, you are paying them.

 _Where did you get my number? And I am not a little girl._

I'm a grown-up, nearly 28-years old woman. I don't have to let anyone call me a little girl, especially not stalker creeps. I purse my lips at that thought, now scanning the room with more confidence. Where are you, fucker? I bite my lip as I check face after face.

 **I have my ways…. Little girl ;)**

I huff, feeling furious at the way I was made fun of via text. It's easy to talk via text, it's easy to play games with me while that freaking creep watches me, without me knowing where he is standing. Try to make fun of me where you can't see me, fucker. With renewed purpose, I gather my purse and phone, nearly knocking over my crystal glass in the process, and stomp off toward the powder rooms, demonstratively adding an unnecessary swing to my hips as I walk. I hear how my phone vibrates in my purse twice, but I ignore it completely. Only when I have closed the door to a cabinet, once inside the powder room, I check my new texts.

 **Running away won't do any good.**

The first one alone is enough to anger me more, as if I was running away, as if I was hiding. Crap. He – this has to be a guy – thinks that I am hiding. I don't want that. I am not hiding, this is me, trying to ruin his plans.

 **God. You have a great ass.**

Behind closed doors, I allow myself to blush and giggle, although deep down I know that his stupid texts shouldn't have an affect on me. For all I know, this could be a serial killer – _for real._ But it's this girly, stupid thing that makes me blush at every compliment, sometimes a girl just wants to hear that her ass looks great, but that doesn't mean that she needs it. I know well enough that I could be considered pretty, I had great genes after all, but I also have days where I feel like I am the child of _Jabba the Hutt_ and _Hulk_. It's perfectly normal to have up and downs.

 _I am not running away. I am just forbidding you to stare at me._

I sit down on the closed toilet, waiting nervously for his text. Thank God, he doesn't make me wait too long.

 **Shame. I love starring at you.**

The door to the powder room opens and wild, loud group of Irish speaking women enter it. One knocks on my door, and I quickly tell her that it is occupied, earning a remark in Irish, which I don't understand. I call her a slut in Russian, she doesn't understand it either, so we are even.

 _Too bad that you can't._

My super, duper master plan has a weak spot. He is quick enough to point it out.

 **You can't stay there forever. Imagine what people will say when you stay at the restroom's for that long?**

Clever motherfucker. Wait. How does he know that I am in the restroom? Did his stalker eyes follow me all the way to the ladies' room? Suddenly, I feel like I am being watched. I look around suspiciously, as if I could spot a camera filming me any minute now. Don't be ridiculous, Ana. He can't be that shrew, can he? I hope not.

 _What kind of creep are you? You follow women to the restroom? Yuck._

 **For someone who thinks of me as a creep, you are surprisingly calm. I would have guessed that you would go tell your daddy about me like the good, little girl you are ;)**

Oh. Fuck you. I can deal you by myself, I don't need my daddy to help me. I will just bitch slap you with my words, you will see.

 _You know about my daddy's reputation? Well, I am worse than him :)_

 **I sincerely doubt that.**

 _I can be more dangerous than all the men inside._

It doesn't sound plausible, and it really isn't, I can't compete with the killers and drug lords, but it's a pathetic try to scare him off. It fails.

 **Sweetheart, you are probably the purest person here.**

 _You talk like you know me, but you don't._

 **Oh, I do. Now, come out of that restroom.**

What a huge fucking dick. Telling me stuff about me, as if he knows me better than I know myself. He also dared to give me another order, oblivious about how much I hate that. Can I be angry at him because of that? Yes, I can. If he thinks he knows me, then he should know that I hate orders. I have played his game for too long now, I won't bother answering him any more, let him write me as much as he want, for fuck's sake. I flush the toilet, not that I used it but I want to look as inconspicuous as possible, and leave my cabinet, the Irish women already gone, thank God. I stop by at the sinks to wash my hands, after all I touched the doors and stuff, and to take a look of myself in the mirror. My blue eyes are sparkling with ire, my mouth is pressed to a thin line, and my cheeks flushed. Most of the time, I am far more better at hiding my emotions and not showing them on my face, but somehow, these stupid texts and the son of a bitch type of writing has really hit a nerve. I shouldn't let this happen, after all there is a rule I have to follow: don't show it.

"Don't fucking show it." I mumble to myself as I reapply my lip stick. My phone, which I put back in my purse, vibrates, but I ignore it like a pro. I grin smugly at it, officially declaring my victory. I didn't have the last word, but I have totally ignored his last words. Ignorance can hurt more than sparky words. With a last glance at myself and after making sure that my dress sits well, I turn around to walk out of the restroom. Just as I step out, I am pushed back in. Before I can realize what is happening, a man in a black suit locks the door, then turning around toward me. Gray eyes are the last thing I see, before I am pressed against the nearest wall, my purse falling to the floor as his lips land on mine. It comes out of nowhere, taking my breath away literally, my oxygen lacking brain needs a little longer to comprehend what is happening. But when I finally understand that a stranger is pushing his tongue in mouth, his arms are around me like a vine, his mouth kissing, sucking, licking my lips wildly, I push him away with all the power I have, even slamming my heel into his shoe clothed foot, making him groan out in pain. I bite his lip hardly, when he doesn't let go immediately, and that helps.

"Fuck." He says, holding his aching lip, looking at me with widened eyes. I recognize him immediately, the kiss feels worse now that I know that I have been kissed by the enemy.

"Grey." I hiss, shaking with anger. "What the hell was that?"

"I told you, I would bite that lip, didn't I?" He answers, his lip swollen now. I think I bit him more than the other way around.

"That was you?" I cry out, my hands formed to fists at my sides. I could punch the living shit out of him. He can't just kiss me like that.

"Obviously." He says with an arrogant shrug, his shoulders broad underneath his suit. It's unnecessary to say that he really looks marvelous in it, and I bet he looks pretty damn fine without it, too. Stop imagining the enemy naked, Ana.

"Did you have a good laugh? I bet you all made fun of me." I say spitefully, rolling my eyes at him. I don't give him the chance to answer me.

"And what's that with the kissing? Are you a rapist now, too? I thought, assassin is the worst you can get."

He walks to the sinks and takes a look of his face, frowning at his bloody lip. I feel bad, even though it was a justified bite, but there was a time where we were childhood friends, meeting each Sunday at this exact Brunch, so for those times sake, I walk over to him, taking a soft towel from the counter and wetting it underneath the faucet.

"Let me." I say, and tap away the blood from his lips with the help of the wet towel, while I can't stop thinking about the old times, where things weren't as complicated as now, where I could talk to him without my whole family treating me like I was a traitor. As kids, we were allowed to talk to each other, but with time, Christian grew into the person, he is now, and I distanced myself more and more from everything that reminded me of my father's lifestyle – that included Christian, too. He became one of the men, I didn't like at all. Here and there, we saw each other, mostly on Sundays though, but I barely talked to him, I barely looked at him. I didn't want to be reminded of the loss of our innocence.

"I'm sorry that I had to defend myself against your rapist ass."I say dryly, making him roll his eyes.

"I wasn't trying to rape you." He mumbles, watching me through intense, gray eyes, his dark-copper colored hair falling to his forehead. He is a good-looking motherfucker, to be honest. I try not to touch his skin as I wipe away the blood from his lips.

"What were you trying then?" I ask softly, wetting the towel again, watching the remains of his blood running down the sink, before vanishing completely.

"I told you I would bite your lip if you don't stop biting it." Christian answers with a smug grin. Intentionally, I tap his bloody lip a little too hard, making him groan in pain.

"Well, that is no reason to scare me. And your texts could have costed you your life, if I had said something about them to my brothers."

He snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Please. As if Paul and Ethan could take me down." When he is especially cocky, his accent becomes more audible. I try not to like the sound of it.

"My whole family would hang you by your balls, Grey." The sad thing is, that I am not joking, they probably would do something horrible like that.

A soft chuckle leaves his mouth as he stops my hand cleaning his wound, his fingers around my wrist. He leans down a little, since he is at least one and a half head taller than me, licking his wounded lip once, his eyes starring me down, their fire burning my senses. I feel his breath brush over my skin, my tiny hairs on my neck standing on end.

"You are worth the pain, _gioia mia_." He whispers, making me blush again.

"What did you just call me?" I whisper back, my brows furrowed as I try to remember the few words I know in Italian, while totally ignoring the English part of his sentence. It's better that way. A smug grin curls his lips as he winks at me.

"It's Italian for 'little girl'." He says, making fun of me once again.

"I'm sure it is." I comment and wring out the towel underneath the running water.

"Aren't you giving me a nickname in Russian, too?" He asks cheekily.

"Oh, I do that constantly. My head is full of them, but I am not going to give you the translations, since I don't believe that you could live knowing them." I say with an eye roll, his grin gets bigger.

"Give me an example." He pushes, not backing off.

"Rapist." I say dryly, as serious as I can be. Christian laughs loudly, his laughter echoes inside the tiled restroom. I smirk proudly, I love that I could make him laugh.

"I love your wit, Anastasia." He says. "Even though, you just called me a rapist again."

"Please." I say, ignoring my fluttering heart. "Kissing a girl who didn't want to be kissed? That's rapist material."

He wheezes, shaking his head slowly. His eyes are once again giving me shivers, I try my best to ignore them.

"We both know that we waited a long time for that kiss, Anastasia." His tone is serious, gone is the humor between us. He is referring to all the times we met between our childhood and now, all the times we have given each other longing looks, all the times we were so close but so far at the same time, all the times we never had together, and all the times we never will.

"Christian." I say softly, nervously looking up at him. "Please. Don't."

Don't do this to me, not here, not now. Don't give me more reasons to hate the world we are living in. Don't make me cry, don't make me love.

"I used to call you 'little girl' all the time when we were kids. I thought, you would understand that I am sending you those texts." He whispers in pain, it breaks my heart to see him like this.

"Christian. Please. Don't." I say again, not strong enough to say what I really want to say.

"Did you forget everything about us?" He asks, his hands reaching forward to take mine, my whole body tingling when our skins meet. I shy away from his stare, my eyes landing on the door, which is locked, thank God. The last thing I need is, to get caught.

"Don't look away, Ana." He begs softly, tugging me forward by my hands. I close my eyes as I realize how close we are standing, his breath brushing my skin, my heart thumbing wildly in my chest. His fingers slowly wander on my hands, up toward my wrists, then my elbows, where they make their way to my waist. Suddenly, he pulls me even closer, my hands immediately land on his upper arms, then wander up to his broad shoulders. The tension is thick between us, it's loaded, loaded with all the memories we have together and all the memories we will never together. We are the modern Romeo and Juliet, we are never meant to be, we are forbidden, we are more, we are too much.

"Can I kiss you, baby?" He asks me, his lips already close to mine, my skin burning with anticipation. I want him to kiss me, as much as I don't want him to kiss me. I fear that it will leave me for wanting more, I can't have more with him, I fear that it will break my already broken heart even more. But I also want to have this one memory with him, even though I know that it will destroy me.

"Please. Christian, kiss me." I whisper at his lips, before slowly he puts them on mine, captivating my bottom lip with his, rhythmically sucking on it, I do the same with his upper lip, before he brushes his tongue against my mouth, asking for permission. As our lips touch over and over again, as my heart breaks over and over again, I feel my skin buzzing with tension, I feel my senses becoming clear, my whole being changes with one kiss. This is what I have been aching for, this is what we only get, so we enjoy it with all of our being.

I put my arms around his neck, his hands on the small of my back and between my scapulas try to pull me even closer to him. I think he wants me to become a part of him, so he never has to let me go.

Our tongues dance, around and around each other, never backing down, never letting go, we don't need air to breathe, we only need each other.

"Ana." He says in between kisses, repeating my name like a prayer. He says something in Italian, I don't understand it, but I know that he is telling me how much he loves me, how much he wants me, how he has missed me, because it's all the things I would say to him, because it's all the things he makes me feel through his kiss. I can't stop the tears from streaming down my face, it's not an ugly cry, it's not loud, it's quiet and something I live in myself, just like my love for him.

His lips capture mine again, before he easily lifts me up to make me sit on the sink counter, my legs are immediately around his hips, his kiss now hastier, his tongue taking no prisoners.

"If you weren't the daughter of my enemy, I would take you out, take you to dinner, to watch a movie, whatever you would like to do. I would meet your friends, you would meet mine, our families would meet and hang out. Our world would be one, we wouldn't have to hide. I would be the man at your side." He whispers to me, when we are out of breath. He looks like he is about to cry, but I know him well enough to know that he would never do that. Boys don't cry, after all, or so they think.

"Christian. Please. Don't." I say again. He ignores me as he presses his forehead against mine, kissing the corner of mouth once.

"If you weren't the daughter of my enemy, I would have told the whole world about my love for you. I would have put it on billboards, I would have screamed it at the top of my lungs from the highest mountains to the lowest valleys."

"But I am, Christian. I am the daughter of your enemy." I say while crying, my heart aching.

"If you weren't the daughter of my enemy, I would have married you already. I would have bought you a huge house with a white fence and blue blinds, a stupid dog, and I would have given you lots of kids. I would have loved you everyday more and more, until my last breath."

"Too bad that we will never have all of these things."

* * *

 **Sad, sadder, CG and Ana.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Melii xoxo**

 _gioia mia - my joy, my delight according to Google :)_


	2. Quicksilver

**Originally this was seperated into parts, but since it is a full story I put them together! I will add a last part soon, seperately first to defuse confusion, later adding it to this big chapter. To make things easier for you, I still put a * to where each original part starts if you want to go reread one of them.**

* * *

 **2\. Quicksilver**

 **Summary:** The story of a silver dress. AU, OOC, AxC, Mob.

 **For all those who forgot who these people are and who are too lazy to reread One Shot #1:** Anastasia is the daughter of Raymond Timur Stepanow, who is the head of the Russian Alliance; she has two brothers with whom she gets along barely since they live their father's mob life style while she detests it because she lost her mother because of his enemies; she has an aunt who is the mother figure in her life; she has undiscovered feelings for the son of her father's biggest enemy, the Italian Christian Hagan Trevisan Grey, with whom she shared a kiss in One Shot #1. This One Shot is set after the last one, but not immediately, some time has passed.

* * *

It all started with a silver dress hanging on a burgundy mannequin at Neiman Marcus'.

It was one of the places I usually avoided like the plague but Kate, my best friend and _maître d',_ regarded as her second home, dragging me along whenever she could just so I could spend hours in front of the fitting rooms, giving her an occasional thumbs up when she showed her newest, in my opinion far too expensive fashion strikes.

On a rainy Thursday afternoon, the one day I had off after lunch time since I closed the restaurant earlier than the other days of the week, she called me with her voice trembling as she raged about her boyfriend who apparently had liked a picture of his ex on Instagram, just when I was going home with my hopes high to do some chores before spending my day on my couch, snuggling with my cat and a good book. Kate had made sure to ruin those plans professionally and effectively, her mood being at the bottom of her socks only another one of her infamous excuses to spend money – _a fashionable distraction from fuckboys,_ her words, not mine. I had made her promise to buy me an extra round of drinks the next time we went out, before I agreed to endure the torture of the day. She had been more than willing, promising me a big pitcher of whatever I wanted, a promise I would certainly not forget.

Like every time Kate and her boyfriend fought, I got to listen to the most gruesome details of their fight, usually Kate being the louder one while he kept his calm, letting her rant and rant, rant some more, until she was done eventually. Then he hit her with the facts, unloading his whole logic inspired arguments, analyzing her words, her actions, before it always lead to the same thing: he was sorry, but he didn't shy away from blaming her, too. _If you hadn't done this and that, I never would have done what I totally did, knowing that it's wrong._

While he had distracted himself with his Playstation, Kate had resorted by spending time in a tiny fitting room, trying on dress after dress, nothing really pleasing her sour mood, while I sat in front of said fitting room, listening to her venting with an occasional eye roll. She took more than ten dresses with her, something the saleswomen noted with distressed expressions on their faces but wisely kept their mouths shut, as I sat down on a plush chair, welcoming the offered glass of champagne with open arms. I downed my first glass in one, one of the all-business-looking, Chanel No. 5 reeking saleswoman immediately refilling it as I thanked her with a big smile, knowing well that I would need the whole bottle to endure whatever Kate was feeling like doing today. My smile was only quickly noted, with her nose high in the air she tried not make it obvious that she was judging my casual black jeans and leopard print shirt, her lips pursed as she got a look of my red shoes. _Bitch, don't make me slam you against the wall._

The venting began with an annoyed sigh from her, she took no prisoners as she talked and talked, questioning her own decisions about this guy, blaming herself for bothering with someone like him, wondering if she had really expected him to be anyway else. The more she talked, the more champagne I drunk, commenting occasionally with _oh boy_ or _what a douche_ , at this point out of answers since their fights were a weekly thing and in my opinion a very obvious warning, but Kate insisted on giving him more chances as if he deserved them. After she showed me a red dress she had tried on, earning an approving and encouraging nod from me, she swore that he wasn't going to get more chances from her, she was done being the forgiving and mature one, words I was all too familiar with since she made that empty promise once in every month. When I pointed that out, she simply huffed, flaring her nostrils at me as her neck flushed and matched the dress she was wearing, before she told me that this time she was absolutely serious.

I rolled my eyes as soon as the door of the fitting room closed behind her back, tired and exhausted of trying to be a good friend, my tries to talk sense into her having failed in the past. She was insisting on putting up with her sorry excuse of boyfriend, no matter how many lines he crossed and no matter how many times I had tried to make her understand that she deserved better.

Feeling slightly bugged and mostly weary from work, I tried giving my attention to anything else than Kate's feet visible underneath the wooden door of her cubicle or my phone which's battery was low, my eyes roaming over the fancy looking customers, a few of them giving me a snobby look when they witnessed the words leaving my friend's mouth. When she had started working me four years ago, the first thing I had noticed about her were the eye catching recommendations in her resumé, she had worked for New York's _who is who's_ before she had to move to Seattle because of a family emergency; the second thing noticeable about her was her flowery language, which gave a sailor a run for his money. Being the professional that she was, she kept it hidden inside her cool exterior when she was working, but soon enough I had learned that outside of our work space, she had no qualms of being blunt enough to make me instinctively cross myself.

"Ana? You still out there, right?" My friend's voice came from behind the door of her cubicle, a zipper's noise following.

"Yeah. Which one did you try on now?" I asked, in my mind counting the numbers of customers, _if they all spend 500$ each, and let's be honest nothing costs less than that in here, they would make more money than I do in two days._ I shook that thought away from my head, no need to rain on my own parade, concentrating on my surroundings again, barely hearing Kate's complaints about the dress she was trying on now, something about it making her butt look XXL.

My eyes bugged when I noticed the tiny piece of silver fabric hanging admittedly graceful on the purple, curvy mannequin. The collar was low, very low, too low if you asked my Catholic upbringing, the mannequins plastic tits bamboozling everyone passing by as their top was open for view, one wrong move and they would be free as a bird. Thin straps hold up the dress which was not a big effort since there wasn't much fabric to be hold, the dress tight around the hips before it ended one or two inches underneath the buttocks, the mannequins legs long and slim underneath.

It was an eye catcher, tasking no prisoners as it begged for attention and it surely got what it wanted. Shiny and short, tight around the right places and revealing all the sexy details of the female body known to drive grown men crazy, it was a weapon, a weapon deadly enough to kill everyone in the area.

I looked around with a flushed face, somewhere in a dark corner of my brain hearing Aunt Valentina's scolding voice since this piece of fabric was what she would describe as _whore material_ , catching a few customers give the silver dress an interested look before they turned their heads, probably scared of its power, one look enough to tell its story.

This was a seductress, alluring shiny and soft fabric wrapped around a female body to use all manners to get what she wanted, an intoxicating tease, an invitation to imagine what was hidden underneath it, a promise maybe, a promise to reveal its secrets if the dress got what it wanted.

It was too powerful.

„It's beautiful, isn't it?" A voice beside me suddenly said, making me shake my head as I escaped the dress' magic, back in the reality. The saleswoman who had served me champagne with pursed lips was now smiling, her eyes looking at the silver dress with admiration, her voice giving away the pride she must be feeling.

„It's… something." I said, biting my lip as I tried to find a fitting adjective, but nothing my brain could come up with would be enough to describe it.

She let out a chuckle, pursing her lips once again before she looked at me.

„It's our newest piece of our next collection. The star of all of our products." It was not hard to guess that she wasn't happy with my choice of words, expecting me to praise their work. I suppressed the need to roll my eyes at her, listening to her next words while wondering why the hell Kate was taking her time.

„Miley Cyrus has ordered one, you might have seen it on her Instagram profile."

Did I really look like someone who a) used Instagram and b) was a follower of Miley Cyrus?

„Oh really?" I said with an awkward smile, crossing my arms underneath my chest, my mind wandering off to places where a dress like this would be considered a VIP ticket to hell. Even my father, who rarely spoke out his thoughts about the way I dressed because he knew he would have more success talking to a wall, would throw a thick, non see through fabric over me and burn what was left of this dress.

The saleslady, who quickly introduced herself as Penelope and who seemed to be thinking that we were best friends now, was oblivious to my internal judging and joking as she went on and on about the singularity of the fabric used in the making of what I called the _Silver Killer_ in my head, and she didn't stop mentioning all the celebrities buying said dress as if I was that easily manipulated, her marketing strategies failing miserably with me. She was tenacious, though, I had to give her that, offering me to try it on so they could get my measurements for even better quality since a dress like this was better worn personalized, for whatever reasons. I simply declined, having nothing more to give than a polite smile, my attention back on my best friend who finally emerged from her cubicle, two dresses hanging over her left arm.

"I'm taking these two." She said when she handed them over to unyielding Penelope, who seemed to be happy because she was getting something out of Kate at least. With one last lip pursing she went her way, oblivious to the eye roll I was giving her behind her back.

"You didn't like her?" Kate asked, inspecting her pores on a floor-to-ceiling mirror beside my plush chair. Her freckles stood out on her light skin, a trademark for her Irish roots. She furrowed her eyebrows at herself, before she looked at me with one arched eyebrow.

"Not as much as she likes that dress over there. At least that's what I got from her persistent hard sell." I pointed over to _Silver Killer_ with one of my thumbs, not daring to give it another glance since I feared my eyes would melt away.

Kate's green irides bugged when she followed my hand to where it was pointing at, her jaw nearly hitting the floor.

"Woah." She let out, catcalling with a perfect whistle as she slowly made her way to the mannequin. I followed her slowly, wishing I could catcall myself, but whistling was not one of my skills.

"Look at this." Kate mumbled, more to herself than actually to me, daring to touch the fabric of the dress, the silver running like liquid between her manicured fingers. My fingertips tingled with the need to get a feel myself, making me wonder if it was as soft as it looked. I didn't even dare to imagine what it would feel like on my whole body, looking down at my boobs and wondering how much tape I would have to use to make them look decent in that dress.

"Ana, I think I just fell in love." My friend mumbled, her widened eyes looking at me with a sparkle inside them which she stated that only two things could cause, _a pair of Louboutin's or night with Orlando Bloom._ Apparently, we had to add something else on that list now.

"It's..." I was once again inadequate to find a fitting adjective, but the way Kate _mmhh-ed_ and nodded, she didn't need me to, the dress speaking for itself.

She looked down to the feet of the mannequin where a white and pristine piece of paper was telling the horrible truth – as good as this dress looked, it was also the most expensive piece of fabric humankind had probably ever produced. No wonder Penelope had been tenacious.

"And now I just got my heart broken. For the second time this day." Kate said, being dramatic as always, clutching her chest where her heart beat underneath.

"You will get over it. You deserve better than this, anyway." I said sympathetically, speaking more about the heart break caused by her stupid boyfriend.

"If only my boss would pay me more." She muttered playfully, giving me a pointed look out of the corner of her eyes.

"Is this your way of asking for a raise?" I asked with a crooked grin, playing the tough boss I never could be. "No honey, no money, Kavanaugh. Don't think I don't know whose fault it is that we lack _limonchiki's_ all the time. I should put those on your tab."

"It's your fault if you keep those yummy bastards around. You know I have no self-control when it comes to two things. " She chuckled, raising two fingers. "Calories and great, life changing, world shattering _dick_."

A shocked gasp by a passing by woman made me blush, her horrified looking face only causing a dirty grin on my best friend's lips.

"Don't I know? You ditched me on a party once for one of these things." I gave her a dirty look, hoping to cause embarrassment in her treacherous body, but no luck there.

"You had a car and I had told you that I was going after him that night. You should have known that I would leave with him." She said with a shrug, the subject dropped for her as always when this particular memory of us came up.

"One day, I am going to fire you for breaking the golden rule of the girl code. _Chicks before dicks._ " I deadpanned, whispering the last word since I didn't want another snobby lady to have a heart attack because of us, Kate's green irides reaching heaven as she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"The day you fire me will be the day you close your restaurant." She said, daring me to argue with one look.

I squeezed my eyes at her, slowly shaking my head as I crossed my arms underneath my chest.

"Touché, Kavanaugh. For that comment, I want the drinks you promised me earlier."

After we paid Kate's dresses, Penelope gave me a last pointed look when she asked us if we had another wish, my mind instinctively wandering to the silver dress, just like my eyes did immediately. My weird longing for it was short lived since I remembered the hideous price tag of _Silver Killer,_ we parted ways in peace.

Surprisingly, my life went on perfectly without that dress, it was only a faint memory in the back of my head where I put all the things I could never have. My days were far too busy to cry after a piece of fabric anyway, work getting to my head when two major reservations canceled within a short time, something my crew blamed the area we were located in for.

"Aha. Look this is what I am talking about. These hooligans have ruined yet another wall." Jared, my chief waiter, muttered with his hands at his hips, stopping to look behind us to the warehouse across the street which had been empty since I had started business. I stopped midway through unlocking the door, following his look to the red bricked wall of the building where two blue eyes with long lashes painted on a creamy background were starring at me with a certain determination set in their irides. The blue color of one eye was slowly dropping down, mixing with black color of the bottom lashes, kinda like a long tear on where the cheek would be. I noticed a pink signature on the upper right corner, too small for me to see from this far away.

"Looks pretty to me." I said with a shrug, remembering far more obscene paintings drawn on that wall in the past.

"This is why customers are canceling reservations, Anastasia. We seriously need to upgrade our local area." He went on, rambling something about _punks ruining our reputation._ My eyes reached heaven as I finally unlocked the door, heading straight to the office and kitchen to turn on the lights and blinds, Jared following me to prepare the ingredients we would need for breakfast before he attended the tables, setting them and polishing the silverware one last time. The rest of the crew followed shortly, Kate the last one of them with a coffee to go in one hand and her buzzing phone in her other, muttering apologies as she made her way to the reception where she pulled up her tablet to wise me up about today's customers, some of Seattle's _who is who's_ having a dinner reservation for tonight, something we weren't allowed to fuck up, unless we wanted to end up on the street. I listened to her patiently, making mumbled comments here and there, as I put on my apron and tied my hair before I got to work with the kitchen crew, soon my thoughts far away from silver dresses and blue eyes as meal after meal got prepared with precision and ambition.

But faith had other plans for me.

Just when I was talking to an old couple which had wanted to meet me after tasting our _Varenye_ around lunch time, the golden bell over the door ringed as a young man dressed in a red vest and jeans stepped in, carrying a glass vase with the largest bouquet of pink colored peonies I had ever seen, struggling to walk a straight line to the reception where Kate was giving him her biggest smile.

 _Peonies... Mother's favorites,_ I couldn't stop thinking with an invisible hand pinching my heart, a dull pain I had learned to ignore a long time ago.

Thinking that Kate's boyfriend probably was apologizing for his douchebag behavior of the past weeks, I turned my head with a deep sigh, tired of his push and pull, my attention now on the nice lady and gentleman in front of me. They were a cute couple who engaged me in conversation about their vacation in Moscow a few years ago, telling me that they had discovered their love for Russian cuisine since then. I smiled at their words, telling them that they were always welcome to eat here, my smile vanishing when I suddenly heard Kate calling my name, though.

"If you will excuse me for one minute." I apologized politely, making my way to the reception desk, my heart beating low in my stomach where it left a frazzled feeling.

"Yes, Kate?" I asked with one arched eyebrow, looking from the delivery guy to my friend. The vase with the pleasant smelling flowers was placed in front of Kate, a creamy card sticking out in between the rosy petals.

"Anastasia Steele? These are for you, ma'am." The young man said with a dull voice, holding out a touch screen device and its pen toward me. "I need a signature of you."

"Who are these from?" I asked, scribbling down my signature with my tongue squeezed in between my lips as I tried to do it neatly, instead of the crooked version I usually used.

"The sender gave no name. I was simply instructed to deliver these to you. Have a good day." He nodded at the both of us before he turned around to walk out, making me look behind him with raised eyebrows.

"Weird dude." Kate spoke out my thoughts before shaking her head, her tone more excited now. "What does the card say? Do you have a secret admirer you didn't tell me about?"

"I have no idea who are these from. And there is no secret admirer." I mumbled, picking up the card in between the flowers, their soft petals grazing my fingers.

 **If you see with innocent eyes, everything is divine.**

 **\- Federico Fellini _  
_**

"Well, not an admirer maybe, but definitively a stalker who loves cryptic quotes." Kate noted with furrowed brows as I turned the card left and right to find anything else on it, but there was nothing else than these written, worrisome words. My mind froze, wandering off to all the possibilities, a warning, a threat, someone wanting to mess with my father, the big mob guy who had destroyed lots of lives, including mine, someone making a distasteful prank without thinking about the consequences. It looked harmless, though, peonies weren't even poisonous or had a disturbing meaning as much as I knew, the delivery boy hadn't done anything either beside his job, the glass vase looked fine, too clear to plant a bug on it. Maybe they had soaked the flowers with poison... _wait_. I was slowly losing my mind, transforming to the one thing I had never wanted to be: my father's daughter.

"Maybe a customer who liked my cooking." I said, shrugging with my shoulders as I placed the card in the back pocket of my pants.

"Mmh. I am sure he likes something of yours, but it's definitively not your cooking, even though you can eat it, too." Kate whispered with a dirty grin, winking at me like the huge dork she was. I called her a bitch in Russian, a word she had quickly learned when we became friends, making her giggle, as I picked up the vase and went to my office where it had a proud spot on my desk right beside my mother's picture, just because peonies were after all her favorite flowers. The rational thing to do would be to inform my beloved father about the events of today, but the more I looked at the gift of my secret, cryptic quotes loving admirer, the more ridiculous I found the idea of reporting someone sending me flowers, for whatever reason. I decided to have faith in people, strange thing to do as the daughter of Raymond Timur Stepanow, you would think I would knew better, but _flowers, come on, which enemy sends flowers?_

Peonies or not, I had work to do, a full room of customers was waiting for their meals, my assistance needed in the kitchen. With one last rub of one petal between two fingers, I left my office, the flowers forgotten for the rest of the day, even though the card in my back pocket was a keen reminder.

Later that night, when the last plates were washed and dried and when the last tablecloths were folded and neatly put into the hamper, a job Jared took very seriously, I was the last to leave, waving behind Kate as she left, before returning to my office to turn off the last lights. My eyes landed on the all day neglected bouquet as I was turning off my laptop, furrowing my brows when I noticed that we hadn't given them water all day, their fresh look of this morning missing. I was careful when I carried them to the kitchen to hold the vase underneath the faucet, water bubbling as it slowly rose, my mind once again full of questions. I had no one to send me flowers, no one so cryptic at least, and I doubted that one of my exes had the sensitivity to do something surprising like this, especially not when our relationships didn't end in good terms. I doubted that it was a family member, what good had they done me until now, my guts clenching in pain as I couldn't come up with an answer.

My decision to be faithful and optimistic now seemed ridiculous, especially when I suddenly realized that I was completely alone, nervously looking around in my office as if someone could jump out of behind the curtains any second to slaughter me with a fork. Maybe if I ran to the kitchen fast enough and threw over the table in the way between my office and the kitchen, I could get in and lock the door before they could catch me, even better if I grabbed a freshly washed and polished knife – _Jared, forgive me –_ and stab back in case my attacker got handy, of course only if he managed to break the iron door and if he really could do that, I would give up immediately because that was just a Hulk move and I couldn't win against Hulk, no matter how shiny my knives were.

 _Uh._ I was turning into a paranoid mess. My father would be proud.

Faith or not, I decided that the best thing to do was to go home and ignore the weary feeling in my bones, lock my door twice, get the little gun out of my safe for tonight, just until the somewhere close to terrified feeling passed, and get my ultimate weapon beside me, Luna the cat with her sharp nails and her no nonsense attitude.

My heart throbbed with a weird mixture of excitement and adrenaline while my basic instincts kicked in, my head turning left and right as I made my way toward the front door, gasping when I saw myself in a mirror suddenly, before slowly tiptoeing away with my purse in my hand, ready to be used as a weapon in any case. I remembered Jared's words from earlier about hooligans and punks in our area, something I had only rolled my eyes at before, but now was weary because of, the path to where my car was parked seeming longer than ever.

 _All of this because of flowers._

But being my father's daughter, as much as I hated to admit it, had made me careful, wisely so, because _enemies are in every dark corner, child_. My own mother had been a victim of that, a tragedy which had ripped apart our family, my own brothers were the enemies in dark corners of our enemies, and my own father had ended lives after lives just because of what I called an ego trip, stupid rivalry of irrational men high on testosterone harming those who didn't give a fuck about their games and deals.

That was the thing with my father's world, _only the innocent got hurt._

A sad smile tugged at my lips, my excitement replaced by the all too familiar sorrow, when I turned around after locking the glass doors of the shop, the alarm system already set up in case anyone was stupid enough to break into a Stepanow's place, suddenly looking into big pair of blue eyes.

 _Woah._

The view was even more magnificent at night, the colors more vibrant and shining brightly, throwing shadows of the cars parked at the edge of the sidewalk and the decorative spiral box trees to the gray ground, the lashes of the eyes black and long, the tear at the bottom part of the painting especially vibrant, for some reason blinking as if it was made out of diamonds.

I gasped with my lips parting, suddenly feeling like I was looking into a mirror, the sadness in the eyes the same as mine, the color of blue the same shade as mine, the tear weirdly enough the most triggering thing about this painting, reminding me of all the tears I had shed in my life.

It was..., once again I was inadequate to find words to describe what I was feeling, what the painting had caused in me, just like what the silver dress had caused, uncertain emotions trying to break free from the deep insides of my chest, too suspect to be trusted in the middle of the road and not in the safety of my own room.

 _It's just a coincidence_ , I tried to tell myself, straightening my shoulders as I looked into the eyes with a daring look, my brows furrowing as I felt like they were mirroring every move of my irides. I forced a smile, feeling suspicious of the view in front of me, as if it could smile back at me, it didn't even have a mouth, but I soon realized that it didn't need one.

 _Whoever the artist is, he has captured my soul in this,_ I thought with a tilted head, my heart beating slow and firm against my ribs as if it wanted to remind me of its presence, probably wondering why we had gone from scared to confused and aroused within a second. I had more important things to think about than potential enemies in potentially dark corners, my own eyes were starring at me after all.

I squeezed my eyes tightly, trying to read the little words written on the upper right corner of the wall, the pink color of them too vibrant for my eyes to read the words clearly. Taking a deep breath, I looked left and right on the street, noticing that I was very much alone, a state which had scared me minutes ago, but now was appreciated as I slowly made my way to the other side of the street, my heart throbbing the closer I got, feeling like the eyes were following my every move.

The vibrant colors and the light of the street lights grazed my skin as I looked up, shielding my eyes with one hand as I slowly read the very words which made my excited, afraid, confused and aroused heart stand still as if someone had pulled the plug of it.

 _ **Little Girl**_

The painting.

The flowers.

The instinctive excitement.

The eyes.

The quote.

 _Little Girl._

Everything added up, like a puzzle its pieces slowly found each other, showing the bigger picture than just little parts of it, the realization slowly pulling the floor from underneath my feet, nearly knocking me over, my heart, that treacherous bastard, coming back to life in full force, beating, celebrating even, throbbing in pain, giving every reaction I had forbidden myself.

" _I used to call you 'little girl' all the time when we were kids."_

This couldn't be a coincidence, too precise and too obvious for the knowing eye, the whole act reeking of the all too familiar smell of a challenge, one I wouldn't miss or decline, one with a purpose, the purpose of daring me to attack, to continue the forlorn push and pull of two stubborn hearts, tugging at each others flesh for whatever reason. It was childish and immature, but mostly desperate, desperate to get something, _anything_ , out of this, a game we couldn't win, but we played anyway just because it was a beautiful distraction from the ugly truth:

 _This was all we got._

I went home that night with a plan coming up in the back of my head and my own eyes staring at me as I went, the single drop of tear sparkling exclusively for me.

Penelope was happy to see me when I returned to _Neiman Marcus'_ and demanded to try on the silver dress I had avoided the last time. Her brown eyes widened as she gave me her biggest grin, excitedly bubbling about special offers, getting my measurements to make it form fitting for the full effect, something I only accepted with the promise that it would be ready by Friday. All the salesladies which had judged me with their pursed lips and their arrogant looks last time swarmed around me like busy bees, tugging here and there as they took my measurements, the dress sliding down my like cold ice, a tingling chill going down my spine to my toes as the ladies around me aahed and oohed, complimenting me more than any of my former boyfriends had done.

I didn't register the words they exchanged, my eyes fixated on the view in the mirror, my body hugged by the silver fabric, my legs long and slim underneath the hem which ended a little below my butt, the skin on my chest visible thank to the low cut collar, the tatas contained by the dress which sat surprisingly tight underneath my arms so I had not to worry about giving a nip slip to my surroundings. My otherwise paleness seemed to agree with the dress, the shiny material taking away my ghostly features, something Penelope said I could stress by wearing darker colors of nail polish, shoes and accessories. I decided to trust her words, having barely no knowledge about color schemes myself, my mind too numb to argue anyway.

This dress was a killer and I was killing it.

 _Fuck modesty_ , I decided, just like I said fuck you to my credit card when I paid the bill, Penelope and her colleagues wishing me the best days of my life, while secretly popping a bottle of Champagne reserved for the customers for themselves.

Packed with my weapon of choice, I quickly proceeded with part two of my plan, my treacherous heart beating swiftly in excitement as I pulled out my phone in the safety of my room, scrolling down on my contact to look for the one number I had saved with the name of a former distributor of Italian wines. My cat Luna purred in my lap as I started typing my text, stretching one of her paws toward me as if she was telling me _Go, girl!_ It was very much appreciated by me to have her furry support.

One last deep breath and I quickly pushed 'send'.

" **For children are innocent and love justice, while most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy."  
\- G. K. Chesterton**

 _He_ had watched me through my own eyes, the painting on the opposite of my restaurant his first move, the eyes he claimed to be innocent, he had made me watch myself through my own eyes, maybe to make me see the innocence he saw in me, something I had never seen in myself, my father's life style having tainted me. The last time we had talked, he had called me pure, something I wanted to proof wrong just because he had to get it through that thick skull of his that I wasn't the _little girl_ he seemed to worship, something I thought he did as an escape of the harsh reality of his days as the son of Carrick Carlito Trevisan Grey, the Italian counterpart to my father. _He was the enemy in the dark corner._

Innocence.

I would show him its absence in me and I would make sure he would see it with his damn eyes and not through a painting of them like he had done to me. I would show him that innocence died with childhood. It had died with the tears I shed when I lost my own mother because of a man like him, _a merciless killer_ , it had died when I had been hold hostage of one of my father's enemies, having to hit him with baseball bat repeatedly until he was unconscious just so I could escape, it had died when I had seen my own father kill one of our security guards because he had been caught spying for the ever so present enemies.

 _Little girl,_ I thought with scoff. I wasn't sure if I had ever had the chance to be a little girl, to be a child.

Minutes passed, Luna fumbled with the hem of my t-shirt, the clock ticked, my phone was as silent as ever, and the thought that maybe I was wrong all along, maybe it was just a weird coincidence, maybe a stupid prank of someone, crossed my mind. Embarrassment flooded me immediately, my blush crimson as I silently cursed with a grimace, the thought of making the first move irritating me. If I was right about my suspicions, then I had just send him a weird, cryptic quote out of the blue. I could imagine him raising one of his perfectly shaped, mocking eyebrows at my text while he was doing God knew what, probably partying with his harem of hookers which wasn't a rare event according to the gossips I gathered here and there at the weekly Sunday brunch. He would have a good laughter, his ego stroked because I had been the one taking the first step toward him, maybe shaking his head at the cuteness of the _little girl_ , something I would never hear the end of, _fuck, fuck, fuck._

Stupid silver dress and stupid blue eyes. If they hadn't been I never would have get the idea of him courting me with cryptic quotes and freaking big paintings of my eyes to my head, and I never would have send this stupid text. Why didn't Luna stop me? She should have scratched my phone out of my hands, trying to eat it like the one time she nearly destroyed its screen. Her furry support had failed me, her paws up fueling the fire in me and blinding me enough to overlook the obvious.

Just when I was contemplating adopting a dog and giving the _Silver Killer_ packed inside its green velvet box to Kate, hoping that it would be enough to make her break-up with her hideously rude boyfriend, my worries about my humiliation slightly vanishing as my phone buzzed in my hand, Luna hissing at said object. I dismissed her with a wave of my free hand, her tail wiggling as she tiptoed away with her nose high in the air, her obvious disappointment with me only to be redeemed with special treats later.

My pulse quickened, audible in my ears as I read his text with my bottom lip squeezed between my teeth.

 **Are you asking me to have mercy with you?**

 **\- C**

At least he didn't ask me what the fuck I was talking about, but it also could be him being a smart ass right now which fit him so much. The best way to find out was to test his knowledge about all the things which had lead to this conversation.

 **You should be the one begging for mercy. Apologizing on your knees even.**

 **\- A**

His answer came immediately, my heart foolishly skipping beats, for whatever reason. I usually forbid myself the excitement caused by him, but this time all gloves were off, I had the illusion of freedom.

 **What did I do to upset you, little girl? ;)**

 **\- C**

Arrogant son of a bitch. He was so full of himself, an Italian matryoshka doll smelling of grease and tomatoes, just _grrrr._ It was disturbing how he was affecting me via text, but that stupid emoji was enough for me to know that he was behind all of this, that and his words, his nickname for me, just the way... _Grrrr._ In that second another disturbing thought crossed my mind, what if I was simply indulging in wishful thinking, foolishly hoping and dreaming that he was reaching out for me with whatever thing his shrewd mind came up with, craving the contact like the desperate person I was.

Enough of this. I needed answers and I was determined to get them.

 **Beside damaging public property and killing plants, you mean?**

 **\- A**

 **Ah, you _did_ like my gifts. Did you smile when you saw them?**

 **\- C**

Aha, there we had it. He confessed, I could go on with my plan then.

 **No, but I am smiling now.**

 **\- A**

 **Am I making you that happy, little girl? ;)**

 **\- C**

 **You will soon.**

 **\- A**

A gleeful squeal left my mouth as my phone buzzed in my hand again, but I ignored his newest text, not unlocking my phone until the next day. I didn't bother answering his question mark, part two of my plan to cause suspicion and curiosity succeeded, now came the more difficult part and it included Kate.

I cornered her the next day after work, my weapons of choice a box of _Godiva Chocolates_ and an expensive eye shadow palette, both paid with my already weeping credit card, her joy short lived because she knew me well enough to know that my gifts came with a price, especially when I was giving her the best puss in boots look I could manage, something I had learned from Luna.

"What do you want?" She asked, mocking shock as her fingers were ripping off the package of my edible gift. "And here I thought you were being a nice friend for once."

"Bitch, I am the nicest." I exclaimed a little too loudly for my mission, immediately getting back a sugary sweet tone, batting my eyelashes. "I need a favor. Or two."

"Mhh, I am sure you do. Spill the beans, Stepanow." Her smile was crooked as she crossed her arms at her chest, chewing on her chocolate slowly, her pristine white shirt tightening around her upper arms and boobs.

"Your cousin works at this club downtown, right? The one owned by..." I said, giving her a pointed look. She was quick enough to finish my sentence for me with pursed lips.

"The Grey's, yes. Why do you ask?"

Drawing my lower lip between my teeth, I avoided her gaze as I mumbled my next words, feeling shy out of the blue. Her green eyes were taking no prisoners as she scanned me from head to toe.

"Could he get me inside tonight? I know how crowded it is all the time and I would hate not to get in. Maybe he could get my name on the list or something."

"I'm sure he could, but why should he? What's it with the sudden interest for clubs owned by Italians?" My friend asked, one brow rose to her forehead daringly. I knew I was not getting out of this without giving her the answers she wanted.

I exhaled loudly, straightening my shoulders as I looked into her eyes, trying to feel confident.

"It's not an interest for the club per se. I have something to talk about with its owner."

"Let me guess? The dude who send you the flowers?" She didn't even sound like she was asking questions, a smug grin curling her lips as she waggled her brows at me like the dork she was. "And you told me there was no secret admirer. I told you he was looking for something to eat, something that's Russian, too, just like your cooking."

"Will you help me?" I asked with an eye roll, her mind stuck in the gutter as always.

"Help you get great, life changing, world shattering _dick?_ Hell yes." She laughed at her own words, picking up her phone from the back pocket of her pants. "My cousin will get your name on the list, he does it all the time for me."

Unlike me, Kate was allowed to be seen in Italian territory, something my father had forbidden me long time ago. I had stood to his rules until now, not wanting to be bothered by his stubbornness, it hadn't been worth the trouble anyway, but for this time I was going to fuck any obstacle and any rule, fuck any possibility that someone could snitch on me, recognize me, the daughter of Raymond Timur Stepanow, in Italian territory. _Doesn't sound like something someone innocent would do, right?_

"That's really nice of him. Tell him I owe him a full course for that, anytime he wants." I said, appreciating any help I could get, even if it came from a stranger.

Kate snorted, sending her text.

"He has a crush on me since we were little kids. Since then he does anything I want."

"Ew. He is your cousin!" I grimaced, regretting the invitation now.

"I never said my family was normal." Kate said with a shrug, tilting her head as she looked at me. "What will you wear? We have to get you ready."

After work, Kate accompanied me to my place, the second favor I had asked for included catsitting Luna for tonight, which she accepted only if she got to loot my Vodka stock. Her eyes bugged when I unveiled my dress of choice for tonight, her joy visible in the shake of her whole body as she tugged and twirled whilst holding the dress on her body, telling me that she would love me forever and ever if I ever decided to lend her it, batting her eyelashes at me. I told her that I could make no such promises, not until it had done its job of tonight, ignoring her pout as I went to take a quick shower.

Kate polished and lotioned every visible surface of my skin, helping me with my hair and make-up, something I was really appreciating since with the clock ticking closer to the time I had to leave my nerves were tingling with nervousness, making it impossible for me to make fashion related decisions. When Kate was pinning my hair to my head with bobby pins squeezed in between her lips, her eyes set to make a stylish topknot with my brown hair, I froze when a realization hits me out of nowhere.

I had been thinking about _his_ reaction when _he_ would see me at his place, invading his territory so much that I hadn't given a thought about my reactions. I hadn't considered that I would be a nervous mess, his presence already intoxicating on neutral field, but this time I would be in his space where he sat the rules, the den of the lion with me as the potential prey, unless I managed to pull the strings right, something I doubted more and more.

I was just about to cancel everything, when Kate told me that she was done with my head and face, declaring that it was now time to put on the dress, my eyes which I had closed instinctively in my self-doubt popped open, looking into the eyes of a beautiful stranger in the mirror. Or at least I thought that she was a stranger when I first didn't recognize myself, my lips parting in shock the more I looked, my lashes longer and blacker than ever, my lips a dark rose color, my cheeks shining effectively with highlighter. I tugged at a strand of hair, Kate had deliberately left out of the knot on the back of my head, the slightly curled strand hanging on the left side of my face, my shock intensifying when I noticed the extra sharp wing she had drawn with an eyeliner on my lids, something I never would have managed without her help.

My doubts and nervousness vanished, leaving room for burning confidence when I put on the _Silver Killer_ – an apt name for tonight's purpose, I had to confess -, my own appearance bewitching me for once. It had been worth the torture my credit card had gone through, I decided with a cocky grin, hearing Kate swoon beside me as I turned left and right, watching myself from every angle. I had never been a narcissistic person, but tonight I was making an exception because _dear God, I was so killing it._

Who needed a gun if you had a dress like this?

"Well, if that doesn't get you laid, I have no idea what will." Kate said as I was putting on my shoes and my fur coat, whistling to herself as she scanned my long legs. "If he doesn't cream his pants the minute he sees you, he needs a vasectomy 'cause he has no use for that dick."

I didn't bother giving her a smart ass answer, too excited to focus on nonsense, instead wishing her a good night and reminding her to keep Luna out of the kitchen. She only rolled her green eyes at me, telling me to go have fun and use protection _cause your family would kill you if you gave birth to an Italian bastard_. True, though not a thought I wanted to dwell on tonight.

Listening to Kate's advise, I took a cab instead of my own car, going undercover easier that way, my stomach bubbling with anxiety the closer we got to the elitist _Mile High_ Club, one of the places I usually avoided like the plague,a tall glass building located in the heart of Seattle where the cabbie dropped me at the base of the red carpeted stairs, one of the grim looking, suit wearing bodyguards opening my door for me. I was careful not to flash him as I left the cab, thanking him with a smile, my hand far too small in his.

Unlike what I had expected there was no long line of people waiting to enter, but I guessed it was too pompous to have a crowd of people waiting outside like in an ordinary club. Instead of freezing my ass off, I was welcomed inside immediately after one bodyguard checked if my name – a fake one, of course - was on the list on the fancy tablet of his, before waving me in with a flirtatious smile, something I only politely nodded at. The inside looked like an ordinary office building, no indications of the infamous party location I had heard so much of, an empty reception desk on the left, abstract sculptures decorating the room and a red carpet leading to four different elevators, a soft tune coming from a system I couldn't spot. I frowned a little disappointed, unsure of what I had expected, but this was definitively not it.

My musing was interrupted when I felt someone touch my elbow from behind, making me inhale sharply, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end with the sudden contact of a stranger. A man with familiar green eyes was starring at me, a wide grin curling his lips as the skin around his nose crinkled, the freckles visible on his light skin. His hair was tied into a ponytail in the back of his head, one silver stud glistening on his right earlobe.

"Hey. Anastasia, isn't it?" He asked, his voice rough but friendly. I furrowed my brows at him, the resemblance only now hitting me when logic put the missing pieces in their right places.

"Jack, I assume?" I asked with one raised brow, making him nod.

"You didn't need to meet me down here. You helped enough already." I smiled, although in my mind frowning as I remembered what Kate had told me about him, his polite demeanor worthless if he really had a crush on his own cousin. _Yuck._

He shrugged, his eyes darting down to my legs for a nanosecond before he looked back into mine, the green of his irides darkening.

"Not a problem at all, I promise. Kate texted me, saying that you were on your way. It's an honor, really, to help a Stepanow."

My blunt stare was enough to make him shut up, the forbidden name nearly leaving his mouth. It was like saying the name of Lord Voldemort here out of all places, even though the lobby was empty, didn't he know? Beside he had promised Kate to be as silent as a grave, that promise included not speaking out the obvious. I hoped his incestuous crush on her was strong enough for him to keep his promise. Even though I was certain that one way or another my family would find out about this, I needed to preside over my allies and secret keepers, their words should be reliable.

"Shit. Sorry." Jack mumbled, grimacing. "Let's get you upstairs, before I drop another brick."

He lead me to one of the four elevators, the doors opening with a _ding_ , on our way up he rambled about his job here, a great distraction for my nerves. When I found out that he was responsible for the security cameras, my interest was peeked, my plan coming back to my mind.

"You can watch everything from there, right? Anything that goes on?" I asked, feigning innocence. He nodded, crossing his arms at his chest as he leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator, his voice confident as he obviously enjoyed my interest. I suppressed the need to roll my eyes at him.

"Yup, that's what I get paid for after all. For emergencies and such, of course."

"You are the only one watching?" I asked, widening my eyes as I tried to give him my best in awe look.

"Well, my crew helps me, of course. And the boss watches, too, from time to time. Sometimes he takes a look himself, all cameras are connected to his laptop. But if he doesn't, his man are watching live for him, reporting to him." He smirked, winking at me. "So be a good girl tonight. Wouldn't want to get caught by _them_ , I assume."

"The boss?" I tilted my head, ignoring his last words skillfully, drawing in my bottom lip between my teeth. "You mean, Christian Grey."

Jack's eyebrows rose to his forehead as he regarded me, obviously in thoughts, that head of his thinking God knew what, his smirk gone. I withstood his look, not shying away, letting some dude intimidate me not something my beloved family had thought me.

"Yes, that's him. Odd how you chose his club to visit out of all the places." He mmh-ed, the half-smile on his lips enough to tell me that he was seeing right through my plan, something I didn't let bother me.

Straightening my shoulders, I turned away from him, facing the elevator's door which slowly opened at that exact moment, sending a last prayer to the big guy above just in case he was listening.

"An odd coincidence, yes." I muttered to Jack, smacking my lips as the last vibes of nervousness flooded me.

"But you have always been like that, don't you?" He said in a mocking tone, making me frown.

"Like what exactly?" I asked, my brows raised as I looked at him, the elevator taking far too long for my liking. I didn't want to spend another minute with this weird dude.

"Deviant. I suppose that's the best way to describe it." Jack nodded to himself, his green eyes sparkling with something strange inside them, nothing causing fear, but something causing irritation and the need to tell him to fuck himself.

"I'm sorry, have we met before?" I asked, my voice sounding more high-pitched than I would have liked it, my nervousness of today now mixed with the confusion Jack was causing. I couldn't remember Kate introducing us before, nor him visiting her at work or at her birthday parties.

He snorted arrogantly, sighing with feigned disappointment.

"Breaks my heart that you don't remember me, to be honest. But that might be because I didn't leave quite a good reputation the last time."

A dreary feeling went down my spine as I looked into his oddly bland eyes, their green hiding something obviously, my instincts kicking in again as I suddenly felt trapped between mirrored walls and him, my options to escape below zero, the only way to survive was fighting it seemed.

He snickered suddenly, the blankness of his eyes gone and replaced by humor, making my guts clench painfully. Externally I tried to look unaffected, regretting asking him for his help more and more with each passing second, but internally I was a mess of anxiety and confusion.

"We met at a college pool party years ago. You had a fight with Elena Grey. I, uh,... well, I took a video of that and put it on Youtube." Jack confessed with shrug, at least having the audacity to blush and look embarrassed.

I frowned at him, remembering the aftermath of said party and fight, my beloved enemy #1 and I getting the scolding of our lives as both of our fathers were going along with each other for once, the shmuck who had filmed our bikinis including fight had to pay for what he had done. As I wondered why he was still alive, expecting nothing but murder from my father and Elena's father, Jack was optimistically obvious to my silence, taking it as a sign of forgiveness, being the fool that he was.

"You know how college kids are. We didn't think with our brains back then." He laughed, scratching his neck. "You were a wild party animal yourself, if I remember correctly. I can't say I have ever seen someone taking that many shots in one night, it was sure a picture worth to be reminiscent of."

"Good thing we are long past that phase, right?" I deadpanned, daring him with one raised eyebrow.

"You don't seem to be. Aren't you here to party after all?" He asked, shifting from one foot to another, his tone sardonic.

 _What the fuck. What is wrong with this dude?_ I thought to myself, his ambivalent words and dark demeanor making me regret the decision to trust him. I had been ready to pay for tonight, but I was certain that I wasn't going to enjoy owing Jack out of all the people, his motives unclear and shady.

My rescue came in form of the elevator's doors sliding open, a _ding_ announcing our arrival in yet another ordinary lobby with a coat check and employees, the only difference being the talking people mingling as they waited in front of two doors which only could lead to the restrooms, the infamous black drawings indicating which room was for which gender. A glass staircase on the far left was leading upstairs to whatever rooms were there, a suit wearing bodyguard guarding it, the patently obvious bulge underneath the waist of his pants giving everyone an inkling that he had no calms to use his gun if needed.

My heart beat furiously in my chest, my coat suddenly feeling to heavy around my slim shoulders, it took me a lot of muscle strength to set one foot forward, the other following instinctively.

"Are you not coming?" I turned around when I noticed that Jack hadn't left the elevator, watching my behind instead from where he stood. _Disgusting bastard._

"Nope, have to return to the job. Have fun tonight.I will be watching _intently_ , in case you get in trouble or something ." He winked playfully, his cocky grin the last thing I saw before the doors closed, leaving me alone in the lion's den. I reminded myself to talk about her cousin with Kate, something about him feeling immensely _off_.

"Can I get your coat, Miss?" A young woman with red hair asked me from a nearby reception desk, taking me back to the now and then. She wasn't the only one in the lobby which's walls were shuddering with a rhythmic _thud thud thud_ , the music played in the next room causing it, weirdly I had thought that it was the sound my heart was making. Bodyguards in suits and a no nonsense attitude were watching me with curious eyes as I made my way to the young woman whom I thanked when she took my coat from me, her eyes looking at my dress appreciatively. I looked over my shoulder nervously where the two brutes were standing at what seemed to be the entrance, a tall, wooden door leading to where I assumed the party was going on, a young couple just now opening it as they entered, giving me a small peek of a dancing people, dark shadows as they moved underneath the misty lights, the music loud and booming. It looked far too crowded, an obstacle for my plan to be seen, so I quickly came up with something new.

"Can I ask you something?" I whispered, making the redhead lean toward me with her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Do you have a VIP area?"

"Ah, yes, we do, Miss. We have four different types of VIP lounges you can book, if you desire. Each of them has a dozen lounges." She said, visibly relaxing, God knew what she expected me to ask.

"And I can just book it now or are they reserved?"

"Well, you can reserve them if you are a member of the club. Otherwise we can check up if there is a free one tonight. My colleagues inside will be more informative, just ask them and I am sure they will be most helpful."

I thanked her with a big smile, reminding myself to tip her well on my way home because the thought that she was here all night while everyone else was partying was depressive. I tried not to frown when another thought hit me, _I had no idea if I would be going home tonight_.

With my coat gone, the dress was on full view, taking no prisoners as I felt the eyes of everyone looking on me, the inside of the club more fitting to what I had imagined it to be, crowded and loud, full of dancing and drinking people, purple and black lights shining over their heads as a DJ showed off his skills, bartenders throwing and juggling with the drinks, smiles – fake and real ones – on people's faces as they appeared to have the time of their lives. It was so not my scene, not since college, but tonight was a night of exceptions, the biggest one me being in Italian territory. As I made my way to the bar, determined to drown my nerves in drinks, I wondered if some of the eyes watching me recognized me as who I was, the enemy in the dark corner, if _he_ was watching me like Jack had said, if _he_ knew I was here, if his men were already reporting my arrival, and I wondered how fast it would take my father to drum up his men to descend on everyone here like the holy ghost when he found out about my misbehaving. I guessed in the worst case I was causing a potential war right now, a thought usually predicted to horrify people, but tonight I didn't give a fuck.

I was a girl on a mission, a mission I deserved after years of well behaving and manners, I was a girl who deserved to come out of the dark corner and reveal myself to my enemies and more.

I didn't twiddle my thumbs, waiting for _him_ to find me in the crowd, I took my time to be seen at first, enjoying a drink or two at the bar where a very attentive bartender named Chad was flashing me with his shiny teeth and making me laugh with his jokes, blowing off any drunk looser trying to flirt with me. I felt and enjoyed the smooth burn of alcohol in the back of my throat, deciding that drinks could only make me more brave and reckless, something I needed to be for what I had planned, my determination to prove the absence of my innocence more and more tranquilizing my nerves, the nervousness caused by what was coming exciting, yet my own worst enemy. I needed confidence, liquid or not, my plan building the safe walls around me which was very much appreciated.

The beats of music throbbed in every muscle of my body while I let my eyes wander with ambitious curiosity, trying to see a behavioral pattern in my surroundings. What did the people around me do specifically, beside dancing and drinking? I noticed a scheme pretty fast.

Under the influence of alcohol and maybe even the whole atmosphere, people let down their precisely webbed walls of morals and rules, revealing their publicly judged sides, sides they were usually hiding underneath crispy white shirts and perfect hairdos. They let go off fears, fear of rejection or fear of intimacy, confidently going after guys and girls they probably never would dare to approach sober, their laughs and smiles constant, their bodies dancing to whatever song was played by the DJ, curves moving underneath flimsy dresses, hips rolling and grinding against each other enough to make me question what kind of foreplay they had going on, strangers becoming friends, lovers, _anything_ right here. It looked easy, just letting go, giving in to needs and wishes, dreams maybe, something I had never been able to do without consequences, my parties always bringing said consequences, usually in form of my father's infamous harangues about God always watching from dark corners just like our enemies did, making me wonder if God wasn't one of them, too, maybe even the biggest enemy we had yet to defeat.

College had been the last time I had partied, or _sinned_ as my father liked to call it, without any restraints, it had been wild as Jack had called, something you could have called attention seeking, but that hadn't been the case. I had enough attention of my family, I could have easily turned into a brat like my foe Elena had done, so I was clearly not seeking attention, _I had been seeking freedom of consequences, freedom of a heritage horrible enough to make me hate the world I lived in._

Of course, my father had put the kibosh on my _disgraceful behavior –_ his words, not mine -, offering me a different type of freedom, something he could live with even if it made him bite his tongue now and then, but it was a better option than gathering me from parties I had stolen away underneath his men's eyes, my blood alcohol level embarrassingly high, the results of whatever I had done cleaned up by him so he could keep his holy last name clean as a whistle – well, if you ignored the blood on his hands. He had offered me an opportunity, my own restaurant just like I had wanted after high school, before college and its parties had corrupted me, the deal far too good to decline so I had promised him to give a pristine picture to the public; parties, drugs and alcohol had no room in that promise, obviously.

After a two years stay at my uncle's place in Moscow where I got to meet one of Russia's most famous chef's and be his apprentice, I had finally returned to the states, a new me in tow. My father had kept his promise, financing me as I opened my restaurant, my name soon enough famous in Seattle, for once not because of my family, all the money I earned primarily paying off my father because I didn't want to owe him for longer than necessary, something he had noted with that stupid proud face of his I hated so much.

 _I wish I could see his face the second he finds out about my rebellion, it sure will be worth any trouble,_ I thought to myself, downing my drink in one before I slammed the glass on the counter, thanking the flirty bartender with a smile before I made my way to proceed with my plan. Just like the coat check lady had said, her colleagues were more than helpful when I asked one of the waitresses if I could get one of the VIP lounges on a balcony overlooking the dance floor, thinking that way I would be easier to catch on the security cameras instead of the crowded area downstairs.

"Will there be people joining you, Miss?" The sweaty blonde asked, an empty tablet squeezed underneath her arm, as she lead me upstairs to a U-shaped sitting area with a coffee table and a big chandelier hanging over it. I could see three more settings like mine on this side of the balcony, all filled with partying young women and men.

"Yes, yes, definitively. Lots of people." I nodded, grinning at the waitress who introduced herself as Linda. She went her way after I declined her offer to bring me something to drink, first things first. I picked up my phone from my purse, quickly sending a selfie to Kate which earned me an immediate thumbs up from her and a reminder to make him work for it before I served him the Russian cuisine cooked between my legs, before I made my way downstairs again, determined to hand my purse to the coat check lady because it was just an obstacle. I was stopped by a group of babbling girls as they approached me, curious about my dress and giving me drunken compliments which I accepted with a big smile, engaging them in a loud conversation over the beating music. They followed me to the coat check where I handed over my purse, my new friends welcomed by me with open arms since they gave me the great opportunity to forget about my plans for some time, our little group soon mingling in my VIP lounge where Linda served us our drinks, one bottle of Champagne the gift of the flirty bartender I had met prior brought in an ice filled bucket, something that was noted with a loud cheering of our group.

I had no idea who these girls were, I could barely remember their names, nor the names of the people they invited to our lounge, but I seriously didn't care about who was who as long as they made me laugh, the atmosphere finally oozing with tingling excitement, the intoxicating feeling of my drinks reaching every cell of my body, numbing and calming, filling me with confidence. I was honestly enjoying myself, something that made me let go of morals, rules, consequences or whatever was holding me back usually, talking and flirting with one of the guys I had met thanks to my new girlfriends, his naughty whispers into my ear making me giggle and blush, more because of his breath tickling me than his actual words, his attention appreciated. His hand was unobtrusively playing with the strap of my dress, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin of my collarbone now and then, his drunken tries to kiss me blocked by me on more than one occasion. I didn't feel like kissing him or anyone in particular right now, I was just looking for fun and not a hasty hook-up in the restrooms, all I had to offer was the lounge paid by me and my credit card, maybe a dance or two.

"This is the best song ever!" One of the girls screamed with a grin on her face, her black curls bouncing up and down as she suddenly stood up and climbed on the top of the coffee table, kicking of a few empty glasses with her red heels, her hips moving to the rhythm, our small crowd cheering her on. I had no idea what was so funny about some girl dancing on the table, but I couldn't stop the grin spreading on my cheek, the giggles just like that leaving my mouth, Linda probably had add some spice to my drinks. I was in awe with the red shoes girl – I honestly couldn't remember her name -, she just closed her eyes, dancing with her body moving in a mesmerizing way, her curves taking no prisoners as they draw the eyes of the bystanders, hypnotic and bewitching. _She was free._

 _I wanted to be free, too._

Eager to get up and dance, I stumbled on the first two tries, my body too intoxicated and my heels too high to be graceful, but with the help of _Joe Schmoe_ I managed to step on the coffee table, my new friends cheering me on, probably because I just gave them a great view of my panties on my way up, but I seriously didn't give a fuck, just letting go, my body grinding against the girl in front of me, our laughter infectious. She was much better at dancing than me, but we managed, the music thumbing in our bodies, our blood heating underneath our sweaty skin, the crowd disappearing in front of our eyes slowly, only their cheers audible, suddenly something wet touching our bodies, someone was emptying a bottle of Champagne on us, but the excitement seeming never ending like a loophole of repetition. My feet ached, my little toes feeling like they were being cut off from the straps of my shoes, but my mind and my body didn't seem to care as I kept on dancing, moving my hips, arms, legs, giving trying to look sexy a try, but giving up as I decided just to have fun, _to be free_.

Since the coffee table could only carry the two of us, we followed our friends downstairs when they wanted to dance, too, our destination the crowded dance floor, our bodies squeezed tightly against each other, dancing a difficulty, it was more like simply grinding against each other and a ridiculous type of foreplay for most people, especially for _Joe Schmoe_ who thought that I would be kissing him now that we were so close, but I kept turning my head, his lips only hitting my neck and throat.

I watched the people around me through my alcohol clouded eyes, watched them kiss, dance, be free, watched their endless joy visible in their faces, wondering what their real lives were hiding, what was hidden behind their veiled eyes, for the first time this evening wondering what kind of sorrow they were going though, what problems they were desperately trying to forget, just like I was doing in the arms of a stranger. I wondered who had the worst fate in here, the worst of them all, who had lost family members to illnesses or violence, who had lost their will to live and given in to the addictive illusion of freedom in shady clubs and drunken dances, my excitement and joy slowly decreasing, suddenly the bodies around me were squeezing my breath out of me. _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ I kept thinking as I tried to free myself from the arms wrapped around me, my guts clenching painfully the more time passed trapped in between a jail out of flesh, the air to breath becoming rare and rare, my voice drowned out by the music, only my fingernails digging into his skin made _Joe Schmoe_ let me go with an angry snare. I stumbled in between dancing people, pushing them out of my way rudely so, ignoring drunken slurs of men trying to flirt with me or trying to grind their hips against mine, concentrating on the bar I could see, the same bar I had sit at earlier, the red spiky hair of Chad the bartender my main focus as I tried to reach the edge of the crowd, squeezing past bodies and ducking from elbows coming too close to my face, the sudden push of a drunken idiot nearly making me fall as I loudly cursed, my concentration gone, Chad not visible anymore.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ I mumbled, looking for something new to focus on, following the invisible path made out of bread crumbs slowly, my with anxiety throbbing heart suddenly skipping beats as I looked into a pair of very familiar, intense gray eyes.

He was leaning against the counter in between two empty stools, one arm casually planted on the edge, the other carrying a glass of what seemed to be Bourbon, his body dressed in a pristine white shirt and dark pants, his shoes shiny, his posture relaxed, his eyes fixated on me, a dark smile curling his pretty lips. The skin around his eyes and on his face was crinkled, as if he was thinking hard, probably wondering why I was here out of all the places, maybe wondering what I had planned, maybe asking himself if I was posing a potential danger, a thought that made me snort. _What was he expecting me to do? Take out a grenade from between my legs? Or go against his army of bodyguards with my surprisingly sharp heels?_

For someone calling me innocent all the time, you would think he would know better than that. The only thing I could do to prove said innocence absence was party like college me would have done and drink myself to death, a pathetic try to prove him wrong, but the only thing I could manage without becoming what my father was, what my brothers were, what Christian himself was; _a killer._

Looking into his eyes now in the middle of oblivious, drunken people, the fog in my head slowly rising, clearing my eyes and the air around me, the music and the people around us invisible, superfluous, the location unimportant, the time we lived in insignificant, the only thing counting him and me, I realized that maybe Christian was so obsessed with the innocence he saw in me because he had lost his a long time ago. Maybe I was the only good thing he saw in this world, only because he didn't know how to look, only because he was surrounded by shallow people, something he could change any time he wanted to if he only could give up his life style.

The joy caused by my night of partying was gone, making room for something bubbling in the pits of my stomach, slowly rising in my cells, squeezing my frantically beating heart, my mind numbed once again, a sweet feeling of tiredness in my bones and muscles, his eyes burning into mine as he starred right through me, into my soul, into my heart, the memories of our last meeting flooding me like a hurricane, breaking my heart as much as they made it feel alive, the memory of his lips on mine making my body tingle with excitement.

Suddenly a new source of power filled my body, the dancing people around me not an obstacle anymore as I pushed them away from my path, my legs stronger than ever as I took step after step, my body burning and freezing at the same time, my heart throbbing the closer I got to him, my determination firm as I ignored everyone and everything around me, only his eyes visible in front of mine, his smile warming my limbs, the memory of his voice and words like music in my eyes, a memory I was desperate to renew tonight, _three steps until the sweet abyss of his arms,_ the hairs on neck tickling my sensitive skin as goosebumps spread on my body, my nipples hardening, _two more steps,_ his smell more vibrant the closer I got, something masculine yet sweet, something I couldn't name but fairly enjoyed.

 _One step, one more tiny step._

 _Woosh._ The floor was pulled from underneath my feet, his arms catching my burning body immediately, the glass in his hands falling to the floor and shattering to hundreds of sharp pieces, his touch sending electric waves through my body as they circled my waist gently, yet firm, holding me against his, a silly grin spreading on my lips as he looked down at me with a concerned expression, his brows furrowed.

"Are you alright? How much did you drink, _gioia mia_?" Christian asked, one hand reaching up to my chin and holding it firmly as he looked into my eyes, his expression softening as he suppressed a giggle. I was shamelessly ogling him, just like I had planned all evening enjoying this moment in his arms, my nerves oddly calm.

"You have called me that before." I mumbled, biting my lip as I tried to remember the bit of Italian I had picked up here and there, but not coming up with a translation for the words he had just called me. My skin prickled when he gently brushed over my cheek with the tip of his thumb, his eyes reaching heaven.

"It's a wonder that you remember after all the drinks you probably had." He muttered, trying to mask his disappointment and anger, but his treacherous accent gave him away.

"For someone who owns a place like this you are awfully prudish." I noted, cocking one eyebrow at him, something he noted with a firm pull of my hips against his, the buckle of his belt pressing against my loins, my body feverish as our faces were suddenly closer than before, his lips far too close as his breath brushed over my tingling skin. I gulped down hardly, my heart skipping beats as the cliche metaphorical butterflies began to fly inside my stomach.

"I just don't like you being drunk enough to dance with some random schmuck." He whispered, his eyes darkening as he licked his lips, his gaze sweeping over my mouth every now and then. I mimicked him, licking my own dry lips, a knot sitting in the back of my throat as swift arousal shot through my body, the timbre of his voice giving away the jealousy he must have felt, but was trying to hide.

I tried to downplay my sudden wanton moment, my treacherous nipples hardening underneath the fabric of my dress, something he couldn't see, thank God.

"You saw that on the security cameras?" I asked, feigning interest, not daring to move in fear of causing more arousal with a wrong move. I desperately tried not to concentrate on anything going on below our waists, he was either carrying a gun in his pants or he was just really happy to see me – both options plausible. He had other ideas, though, slowly moving our bodies to the music, his hips grinding against mine in a slow rhythm, his eyes flickering with wicked humor.

"Mhh." Christian let out absently, one of his hands carefully grasping my neck, his fingers gentle on my skin, his other arm tightly circled around my waist. I was startled when he suddenly pushed me backward, my hands immediately holding onto his arms as he lead us to the dance floor, his expression determined.

I quickly found out that Christian Grey could dance, he could also make a girl swoon in her silver dress as he moved his body against hers, the music following his rhythm it seemed than the other way around, his leading firm, yet easy to follow, our hearts beating in our chests as silly smiles spread on our cheeks, blushes and whispers exchanged, the moment precious like a newborn child, something I would remember for the rest of my life.

I was cocooned in his arms, his intensity, his _whatever power he had over me_ , too happy to be bothered by the consequences awaiting us after this night, too happy to be afraid of the enemies in the dark corner, feeling safe and feeling _loved_ in his arms. I closed my eyes and let go, my cheek resting against his chest as he moved us slowly, making me feel like we were the light dot in the middle of infinite darkness.

He whispered something into my ear, barely audible thanks to the music, nothing I could have understood anyway since it was Italian, but I didn't need translations to know what he was feeling, his timbre giving away everything I needed to know once again, a smile curling my lips again.

He grasped my chin again, tilting my head back so I could look up into his gray eyes, eyes burning with intensity, _love even_ , his breath fresh against my feverish skin as he spoke.

"Spend the night with me. Stay with me."

I answered him with a kiss, a kiss I had longed for since the last time, the biggest kind of _Fuck You_ I could give to our families, to the rules and consequences.

 _We were free for tonight._

A half-assed nod from me was all it took him to drag me away from the dance floor, the crowd parting automatically as soon as he walked by, they probably knew not to mess with him. My heart beat underneath my tongue, or that was what it felt like at least, my hand sweaty in his firm grasp as I stumbled behind him, my inebriated mind cloudy but willing, the people around me just foggy, no face important enough to remember or to look at, the music barely audible over my loud pulse, my body shivering with excitement and adrenaline.

Tonight I was joining the enemy in the dark corner, letting him introduce me to his part of the world, something that clearly wouldn't help me find my missing innocence, but for once he seemed not to give a fuck about its absence. He only cared about the sweet abyss of lies, lies we were feeding ourselves with, lies about this _thing_ between us having a meaning, a future, having anything at all, the only truth we were both aware of being the one about this night being unique, no repetitions would follow that much was sure. All we had was this night, and we were set to make it count.

A suit wearing bodyguard stopped us when we were in the lobby where the receptionist had taken my coat and my purse, her eyes widening as she saw who I was accompanying. I wondered if she wasn't used to seeing him with a woman, or if this was about me, if she didn't think I fitted his usual female companions. _Bitch._

I grasped Christian's arm tightly as I shivered with sweat cooling my skin in the chilly room, my head feeling heavier than ever. I barely listened to the words he exchanged with his employee, parts of them in fluent Italian anyway, opting to lean my head against his shoulder instead, slow and deep breaths leaving my parted lips as I tried to get my shit together. I sure as hell hadn't imagined being drunk at our first and only night together, but I guessed it was too late to feel remorseful. He didn't seem to care either.

"Thanks, Taylor. Make sure everything is still intact when I wake up tomorrow morning." Christian ended his conversation with the man in front of him, clapping his shoulder once in a brotherly gesture. I ignored the dubious looks his employee gave me before he walked off to somewhere, concentrating on the Christian smell I barely got to enjoy instead.

 _Tomorrow morning_ , I wondered with furrowed brows, the musky, manly and yet lovely smell of the man beside me clouding my mind. _What will happen tomorrow morning?_

I decided not to be bothered with the possible outcomes of this tonight, knowing well what we would cause with the one and only night we had, both of our fathers probably getting wind of our misbehaving before sunrise, knowing well that it was selfish and immature, but his hand in mine felt too good to care about rules and consequences. I couldn't be bothered with their childish feud, not while his skin set mine ablaze, not while his fingers fit mine, not while my nerves tingled.

"Are you alright, baby?" Christian whispered to me, his soft lips touching my forehead lightly, his hand letting go of mine just to encircle my waist for more support. Instinctively I made myself comfortable against his warm side, a pleased sigh leaving my mouth as I didn't even bother hiding the goofy grin spreading on my flushed cheeks, looking up to him. His eyes twinkled with humor as he regarded me.

"Do you need me to carry you? Those heels are..." He bit his lips as he threw a darkened look at my feet, shaking his head, muttering silently something to himself, a worried expression back on his face.

I was too busy with noticing the smooth stubble on his jaw and chin to answer him, shaking my head instead, the thought being carried in front of everybody humiliating in so many ways. The receptionist was not even hiding the curious looks she was giving us, probably thinking about all the gossiping she could do later with her colleagues. I didn't have the heart to check if his bodyguards were watching us, too.

"We will have to go up these stairs. Will you be able to do that?" Christian asked softly, nodding toward the stairs he was talking about. His gray eyes were protected by long lashes, I noticed.

"Yeah, sure." I managed to let out, stuck between being intoxicated with alcohol and _something else_ , remembering all the words we had exchanged the last time, the promises, the sorrow, the endless if only's, the emotions kept hidden underneath our lives, _him_. My heart was pinched by the invisible, yet harsh hand of reality, _this was all we got._

"I could kill that fucker for letting you drink this much." He muttered sardonically, his threat somehow making me giggle, but unlike any other possessive love interest I ever had, he was being completely serious. He really could do something like that, God knew he had killed for less and more, but I tried not to dwell on that.

"I drank everything myself. The fucker didn't force me." A half-assed attempt to protect _Joe Schmoe_ left my mouth but fell on deaf earths, Christian's firm arm around my body leading me slowly to the stairs. I wondered what was upstairs, offices maybe, maybe even torture rooms he used for interrogations of his enemies, maybe a private strip club where he let random bitches give him a lap dance, a thought that made me want to kick his shin. A queasy feeling spread inside me, my stomach turning and twisting, jealousy was such an ugly thing to feel, for sure.

"Careful." Christian warned me as I nearly stumbled, groaning in annoyance which annoyed me in return, his patience running out when he suddenly leaned down to capture both of my knees with his arm, the other one still at my back. I yelped in surprise when I was suddenly pressed against his muscular chest, his smell more vibrant here, something I didn't let fool me, my feet in the air as he took his steps nonchalantly.

"Let me down." I wiggled my legs, trying to free me from him, feeling like a child. He narrowed his eyes at me taking us both up the glass staircase, his jaw clenching.

"Stop moving or we will both fall. Don't make me throw you over my shoulder, woman."

"Neanderthal." I muttered with pursed lips, petulantly grasping his neck with my hands to secure my position in his arms, my treacherous heart going bonkers inside my chest.

"I've been called worse by you. Rapist was the title you used last time, if I remember correctly." He had the audacity to grin smugly, reaching the top of the stairs without breaking a sweat. He either was very strong or I weighted nothing, both options flattering my ego.

"And yet you keep calling me sweet, sweet things in Italian." I muttered against his chest, unable to resist the temptation to make myself comfortable, listening to his heart beat with closed eyes and a blissful smile curling my lips. I didn't even care that he could let me walk myself by now since we were upstairs, saying _fuck it_ again.

"Sweet, huh? You like me calling you sweet things in Italian?" Christian asked huskily, aforementioned sweet foreign words following the soft kiss he pressed against my head, lingering their to take a deep breath.

"Mhh." I let out with blushing cheeks, the skin around my legs tingling with his hands' touch, my heart throbbing with sensations caused by his words. "I hope you didn't insult me, for your sake."

The chuckle he let out made his chest vibrate, the white fabric of his shirt feeling soft against my cheek.

My eyes opened automatically when he suddenly placed me on my own feet in front of him, my knees wobbly for a second but his arm ever so present on my waist as he unlocked the door in front of us, leading me inside a dark room which's lights he turned on immediately, revealing me what I hadn't expected to see.

I had of course expected an office type of setting, which was what I got from his wooden desk and black cushioned chair, a laptop topping with its lid half way down, a tablet and two phones waiting beside it with their screens announcing new texts and calls, a fashionable green lamp placed on the right corner and shadowing over two picture frames, a small cactus plant and pocket-sized oak wood sculptured shaped as a dove holding an olive branch in its mouth, a national sign for peace – _how apt._ Two leather chairs and a coffee table were facing his desks, behind it a bar area with glass bottles of various types of alcoholic beverages glistening underneath the round lamp hanging on the wooden ceiling. He seemed to like wood ornaments wherever he could, I wondered what that said about his psyche, maybe I could find a _Buzzfeed_ article about it.

A large window was overlooking the dance floor, making me wonder if that was how he had spotted me, watching me with his drink in one hand, the other positioned on the glass, his eyes squeezed as he saw me dance with my friends, one of them's hands all over me, something that had let him see red enough to storm downstairs to save me, maybe. Two doors lead to other rooms, I tried not to think of them as the torture chamber I had feared, concentrating on the fancy pool table and paintings decorating the interior, a Hi-tech stereo close by the door, waiting to fill the room with whatever type of music he liked to listen to, another thing I didn't know about him yet.

Tall, dark shelves were on the left and right walls of the room, full of books, some in English, some in Italian and even German it seemed, making me raise my eyebrows in surprise as I thought about all the time he seemed to spend with reading, not something I had expected from him, to be honest. I promised myself to ask him about it, choosing to be nosy for now instead as I didn't wait for him to ask me to sit, simply walking around and taking a look of everything.

It didn't look polished and expensive like I had imagined his office / room / whatever he called it to look like, somehow I had thought of odd pictures of all white and black objects, sterile and pristine enough to perform surgery on them, sharp and impersonal, but effective just like his career path. I had imagined to feel out of place, stranger in strange land basically, but the longer I looked around, noticing the little details, the more I saw Christian's soul in here.

I saw his love and loyalty for his family in the pictures he had placed on his desk, something I had already expected to be honest, but seeing it again reminded me of even though his hands were full of blood, even though he had sold his own innocence to the world we were living in, somewhere underneath all the terrible things he did, he sure had a heart, a heart big enough to fit his whole family with all the cousins, all the great great great uncles you couldn't even remember the names of and _me_.

I saw his ambitions and interest in his books, some famous philosophers in between biographies and factual books, for example specialized in what the handwriting told about someone, wondering when and how he had read all of them, what he had thought and if liked to underline lines he particularly liked just like I did, my fingertips aching to grab one of them to find out. I saw that he had other things on his head, too, beside the live he shared with his family and mine, he had personal interests, personal goals maybe, something that made him exist outside the dangerous path he had chosen. A Christian without the garbage our families brought along, basically.

I saw his taste in drinks, in the brand of bourbon he seemed to prefer, I saw the taste of music he seemed to have in the CDs he had lying around, wondering when I had seen a CD myself the last time, I saw that he had a little issue with perfectionism, everything looking neat and precisely placed, yet still so homy as if he had actually took care of everything himself, his watchful eye making sure that everything was in the right place.

Nothing about this room reminded me of the man I knew, something I appreciated very much.

I didn't want to know Christian Hagan Trevisan Grey, the killer and the son of my father's archenemy. I wanted to meet the real deal, the Christian who loved and was loved.

He let me explore his belongings, welcoming me in his world, waiting patiently as he leaned back against the closer door with his arms crossed at his chest, his gray eyes following each of my steps, though. My neck tingled underneath his watchful eyes, I tried to keep myself busy with a book about poisonous plants I had my eyes on, frowning when I nearly stumbled on the fuzzy carpet underneath my heels.

"Maybe you should sit down." Christian proposed with a worried voice from behind me. I ignored him, simply leaning down to unclasp the soft velvety straps of my silver shoes, a difficulty since all the blood of my body rushed to my intoxicated head.

He let out a low timbre, somewhere between a groan and a hiss caught in the back of his throat, probably enjoying the show I was just giving him with my butt in the air and my hands fumbling with the simple task of unclasping my shoes, a curse leaving both of our mouths simultaneously, our reasons different.

I gave up as soon as I felt the world spinning a little too fast around me, standing upright just when I heard him approach me, his shiny shoes tapping against the floor when he encircled my waist again, turning me to face him and pushing me backward so I was leaning against the shelf, its wood pressing into the small of my back. I let out a gasp, the sudden movement dizzying and hectic, my nerves set ablaze once again with him standing so close, his breath brushing over my heated face, his eyes darkened and narrowed, his jaw clenched. Our nose tips practically touched, one move, one tiny move forward and I would be kissing him again, God knew my whole body was aching for it, my tongue wetting my lips and my eyes darting from his gray irides to his lips, lips I couldn't wait to feel on mine. I grasped whatever book I could get my hands on behind me, my knees wobbly again, needing the support as minutes passed, my pulse audible in my own ears, his gaze intense and ever so sinful, painful even, his dark-copper hair throwing shadows to his forehead, hair I wanted to brush away, to hold onto.

 _Kiss me, dammit!_ I wanted to scream, maybe grasp his shirt and pull him toward me, but my muscles felt numb, useless underneath his stare, his smell intoxicating, his whole presence bewitching my already weak mind.

Slowly he raised one hand, a tender touch on my cheek, not enough, never enough, my heart practically in my mouth as fast as it beat, his tongue wetting his lips, his eyes half-lidded and softening, his hand continuing its path down my jaw, my chin, to my neck where my pulse beat frantically underneath, his lips never on mine, my brows furrowed as I suppressed the need to curse him, just to kiss him really.

Christian mumbled something in Italian again, making me wonder if he had a dictionary somewhere in his epic collection, it seemed like I was going to need one if he kept whispering sweet, sweet stuff, only his tone giving away of what nature his words really were, somewhere between pained and mellow. He made my toes curl and my teeth ache with sweet sensations he caused, his fingertips slowly grazing the skin on my throat, down to my collarbones which he gave yet another darkened look, goosebumps spreading on my body as he wandered to my shoulder, down my arm, my hand, our fingers touching, causing tiny explosions in our synapses, millions of nerves on fire with sensations, two hearts beating rhythmically and in balance, unafraid and reckless, yet his lips didn't touch mine, but I felt like he was the first guy to kiss me without really kissing me. He had kissed my soul, that was what counted.

I was out of breath as if I had run a marathon just now or as if I had made out feverously, when he suddenly knelt down in front of me, his hands fumbling with my shoes, the straps I had fussed with giving in easily, making me wonder how many women's shoes he had taken off in here.

"Let me help you." Christian whispered, his hands grasping the soft silver fabric of my dress around my thighs as I slipped out of the devil's footwear, my toes thanking me as I wiggled away the aching I had endured for the past few hours.

"Ah. Thank you." I sighed blissfully, remembering once again why I never wore heels, my hands instinctively searching leverage on his shoulders, his muscles flexing underneath my touch. _Yum_.

"You know who you should kill instead of the fucker downstairs? The guy who thought it would be great to make high heels a fashion trend." I joked, the small carpet underneath my feet feeling soft, a fit of giggles leaving my mouth. "Honestly, why are women the only ones forced to wear these? Men should wear them, too."

If my little toes could I was sure they would nod in agreement, the aching slowly oozing in last pathetic waves, the soles of my feet still burning from all the work they had done today. The words just left my mouth uncontrollably, something about heels being mandatory at some workplaces being discriminating and unfair, my drunk mind totally convinced that I was on the right path of things, so focused on footwear that it took me a while to notice that Christian hadn't moved from his spot, kneeling in front of me, his hands still grasping my upper thighs.

I gasped when he suddenly let his fingers wander over the edge of my dress, skin meeting skin, something sizzling between us, on us as goosebumps spread on my body, his fingernail brushing over the sensitive skin just below where the fabric ended. His touch was palpable in my whole body, millions of impulses rushing through my nerves, through my blood and my very being toward the heat between my legs, a moment short and precious. My fingernails dig into his shoulders, a moan caught in the back of my throat as my eyes widened.

" _Donna mia_." Christian whispered, his gray eyes looking up to me with a force of storms hidden in them, his lips pressed into a thin line. "What were you thinking?"

I wasn't sure if I was capable of thinking at this very moment, to be honest, or if I had ever been able to think at all, all coherent thoughts had left the building the second I had seen him tonight.

"Mhh. I don't know." I let out, biting my lip to prevent a moan to escape my mouth as his hand grasped my leg tightly, his fingers going under the hem of my dress, before he began to caress my skin with gentle movements, small circles given with the tips of his fingers.

"Showing up like this. Driving me mad. Drinking yourself to death. Dancing with some poor excuse of human being. The list is endless." He groaned with a head shake, obviously displeased with me, while his hand didn't stop doing its magic, so close to the one place I wanted him, but yet so far. It was a miracle that I managed to speak clearly.

"I didn't drink myself to death. And if I remember you danced just fine, so stop calling yourself that."

His eyes narrowed when he saw my goofy grin, now both of his hands grasping me tightly and pulling me forward, his lips grazing the gap of my thighs just below my dress, the moan I had been trying to prevent finally free, something he noted with a cocky look as he pulled back. _Ublyudok._

"God. Your legs are divine." He muttered to himself as he ignored the frown I was giving him, his fingers continuing their path, tapping feather-lightly on my feverish skin, my legs instinctively parting when he tickled the skin behind my knees. His teeth captured his full bottom lip as he stared at his own fingers on my flesh with a hazy look, suddenly leaning down to cause tiny explosions on my heated skin with his soft lips pressing soft kisses right above my knee, once, twice, a three time which made me squeeze my eyes tightly, the moan leaving me breathy and shaky, my head hitting the wooden beam of the shelf, a dull pain quickly jolting inside me.

I ignored it professionally, his lips on me feeling far too good to be concerned with mundane things like that, the wet path they left when he suddenly dragged them up, his nose and lips disappearing underneath the hem of the _Silver Killer_ for a nanosecond, before he stood up completely, his lips on mine, my arousal sharp like a gunfire.

His hands found my face, tilting it to one side as he devoured my lips with his, our kiss desperate and wet, my hands tightly grasping his shirt, the white fabric soft between my fingers, our tongues dancing, fighting, losing and winning as waves of arousal spread inside me, my body relieved when it got what it had ached for. _Who was I kidding?_

 _My heart was relieved when it finally got what it had_ _needed_ _all along._

He was everywhere, on my mind, on my skin, on my lips, everywhere and surrounding, surrounding me with his scent, his touch, his taste and his whole being, just like I had always wanted. I had dreamt about this before our kiss weeks ago, I had dreamt about this afterward, lying in my cold bed at night, wishing him to be there with me, sleeping in his arms with ours lips still wet and swollen from the kiss, from all the kisses, my body sleepy with my core still spasming from his love making, my heart overfilled with satisfaction and _love_.

It was all what I wanted, but all I could never get.

 _Tonight is all we get._

I tried to put everything I felt, everything I had suppressed and everything I had hidden into our kiss, our bodies melting against each other, fitting like a puzzle, his feelings mirroring mine, his needs and sorrows equal to mine, we were done giving a fuck about rules and consequences.

 _Fuck you_ , I screamed angrily in my head, _fuck you all_. _I love this man and you may break me, you may kill me, but you can never stop me from loving him. Even if I die, I will love him from my grave._

And the way he kissed me, I knew he felt the same way. That was all I cared about, him and our kiss, anything outside this room was blasé. The world, our families, friends even, rules and consequences, every single one of them had no meaning.

He and me.

That was all we had.

"Anastasia." He whispered in a painful tone when he let go off my lips, giving us two seconds to catch a breath, before he was sucking on my bottom lip again, gentle yet firm, his tongue swiping over sensitive flesh as it asked for permission, something I gladly gave. My body buzzed with lust, hot, tingling and consuming lust, allowing me to feel attracted to him, to be affected by the way his chest flexed underneath my fingers and by the smell of him, bewitched and devoted completely.

"I know." I managed to whisper through wet lips, understanding what he was trying to say, kisses following my words, one, two, three and four, before our foreheads touched, our nosetips brushing, breaths heavy and short. His palms felt blissfully cool against my heated skin, his thumbs grazing my blushed cheeks, the rest of his fingers underneath my ears.

He kept his eyes closed, foreign words leaving his mouth in a hasty tone, my eyes open and determined not to miss another second of him, taking all of him in, his long lashes gently kissing the skin below his eyes, the light wrinkles around his eyes, the fullness of his lips and their unique color and the light stubbles on his chin somewhere between scratchy and soft. Sometimes I wondered if he was too handsome to be true, a silly thought, but I was a silly girl in love.

 _Loving the enemy was harder than fighting the him._

A hasty breath left his lips, his body shuddering before he opened his eyes again, glazed with love and sorrow, and yet he managed to smile.

"Look what your dress has done to me, woman. It literally took my breath away." Christian joked softly, making me giggle and internally thank _Neiman Marcus_ for providing me with the _Silver Killer_. It sure had been worth the money.

"You really seem to like it, though." I said smugly, wiggling against the hardness he was sporting inside his pants, a hiss leaving his lips.

"That's because you look..." His eyes darkened with lust as he couldn't find a fitting word to describe my current state, something I noted with a huge grin and confidence oozing inside me.

"I know."

„I don't know if I like it."

„What's not to like?" I asked with one arched eyebrow, my confidence turning into arrogance.

„Exactly. There is _too_ much to like." He said with a pointed look toward my cleavage, the silver fabric giving a view of the skin between my tits, his tongue wetting his lips quickly before he looked up again, the tips of his ears reddening.

„You know for someone who regularly has some half-naked chick swinging her ass in front of his face, you are surprisingly uptight about a dress."

„Well, you are the one wearing this, and I can't believe that it deserves that name- D _ress_." Christian said matter-of-factly, stressing the last word. "Beside I don't have an chick swinging anything of hers in front of my face regularly.

„Don't tell me that you are one of these douches? The ones who love to look at half dressed women all the time, but act like moralizers when it comes to the female members of their own family." I said with furrowed brows, flaring my nostrils involuntarily. "And don't lie to me. I have heard about your little harem of skanks. People talk about that at Sunday Brunch a lot."

When the jealousy got to my head, I immediately let go off his shirt I had been still holding onto, crossing my arms at my chest and turning my head away. I tried not to pout, letting my eyes wander around in his room instead, something catching my eye quickly.

He nuzzled the skin on my neck, a soft kiss here and there, before he captured my earlobe with his teeth, gently biting before sucking, another jolt of arousal making its way down from my ear to the bundle of nerves between my legs, a moan caught in the back of my throat and suppressed professionally. I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of making me moan like a horny mess while I was low-key angry at him, no, thank you very much.

"Don't be like that, _tesoro_. You know you are the only woman I want." He whispered, sugary sweet words following, promises, endless promises about me being the one and only, the most precious one, the one who made him feel alive, each promise followed by a gentle kiss anywhere expect my swollen lips.

Tired of his sweet talk, I stopped him mid-sentence with a sudden slap to his chest where his heart beat underneath, my lips pursed.

"Listen to me, Christian Hagan Trevisan Grey." I said angrily, my accent getting the best out of me in my sudden ire. I was totally going to release the crazy in me he hadn't seen yet, fuck if I cared, he should know what he was messing with.

"Listen to me well because I won't be repeating myself." I furrowed my brows, poking him in the ribs. "If I ever find out that you had another woman after tonight, if I ever hear of you letting another skank touch you, if I ever get even the slightest feeling that you looked at a woman for longer than three seconds in a way you would never look at a relative, I will personally cut out the gun you are obviously hiding in your pants right now and feed it to the dogs. Do you hear me? I will not allow anyone to make me a laughing stock, and if we do _this_ tonight, I will sure as hell not allow you to make me regret trusting you. "

"Yes, ma'am." He whispered with widened eyes, quick enough to know that there was a slim chance that I would be a woman of my words if he should ever misbehave or do something which could hurt my pride. I tried not to like the way he called me _ma'am_ , my mind stuck in the gutter though, something I was sure Kate's influence had caused.

"There won't be other men either, right?" Christian asked calmly, but his gray eyes glistening with suppressed anger gave him away.

I snorted, rolling my eyes, _as if that was an option_.

"Of course not. Unless you take me for a fool, there won't be other men." I said with one arched brow, my eyes darting to something I had caught while he was trying to bamboozle me with his sweet talk. "And now answer me why you have a bunch of vegetables and fruits hanging down your ceiling."

Christian followed my look, a confused expression flashing his face before he saw the limes and chili peppers hanging on a metal wire I was starring at, his lips parting as he licked his lips in a nervous gesture.

"Ah. That's _nazar battu_. It wards-off the evil eye, something lots of Asian countries use." He explained slowly, stepping back before he made his way toward the strange object, his fingers reaching up to brush the green chili pepper at the bottom, the while wire swinging lightly.

"I didn't know you were so... superstitious." I said with a frown, following him. "What was it called again?"

" _Nazar battu._ It's Indian. _"_ He repeated, stopping the movement with his hand as he intently starred at the yellow limes and green peppers. "And I am not superstitious, just spiritual. Beside this is more like a reminder of an old friend."

"Do you keep reminders of all of your friends?" I asked with a challenging tone, wondering who said friend was and why he needed a reminder of that person.

He chuckled, burying his hands in his pockets before he smiled at me, a smile that couldn't hide the sadness in his eyes.

"Only the ones I care about."

"What will you keep of me?" I asked sweetly, trying to brighten his mood while deep down dying to know what he was thinking about.

"I only keep stuff from my friends. I assumed we are a little more than that." Christian said with feigned shock, grasping his chest and making me roll my eyes at his dorky-ness.

"But you care about me, too. I should leave something here, something you can keep as a reminder." I shrugged, watching mischief sparkle inside his eyes, his grin dirty.

"You could leave your dress." He suggested with a husky tone, my guts clenching with delirious lust. "So I can burn it and you can't wear it again."

I bit my lip, trying to suppress a fit of girly giggles, batting my lashes at him.

"But that would leave me naked."

"Is that such a bad idea?" He whispered with darkened eyes, stepping closer so we were facing again, his arms circling my waist as he dipped his head to kiss me, my heart going bonkers inside my chest.

He circled his hips against mine, gasps and hushed curses leaving both our mouths simultaneously as swift and sharp craving was roused inside us, his dick hard underneath his pants, my pussy wet and aching for him and his touch, the friction obviously not enough. I nearly bit his tongue when I felt him grasp my butt, tightly so my clothed flesh was spilling between his fingers, my arms immediately reaching up to shoulders before my fingers found the curls of hair at the back of his neck, my grasp as tight as his. We hissed into each others mouth, tongues dancing, lips sucking and enjoying every second, Christian pushing me backward once again and this time the wood of his deck at the small of my back, my body instinctively leaning rearward, his body hot and hard against mine. One of his hands found my hair, tugging and making me grimace in pain, soon the pins securing it giving up and the waves of brown hair falling down my neck, a little crooked and far from soft thanks to the hairspray Kate had used on me, but Christian didn't mind at all, he grasped a handful, deepening our kiss while shamelessly rubbing our bodies against each other, both of us seeking release.

"How do I get this off of you?" He breathed, fussing with the straps of my dress, my mind too glazed to answer him, his last kiss still wet on my lips.

"For fuck's sake, you are not even wearing a bra. Are you trying to kill me? Or any loser looking at you in this?" He grunted as his hands looked for a zipper on my back, going for another quick, possessive kiss, ending it with whispered words, _you are mine_.

 _For tonight_ , I couldn't stop thinking, trying to brush away the sadness caused by that silly thought immediately. I giggled into his chin I had been showering with kisses, enjoying the roughness of his stubbles underneath my lips, pulling his hands from my back to my right side where the zipper was skillfully hidden underneath fabric, something he noted with yet another grunt, this time a more happy one, the dress parting when the zipper was down.

"Fucking finally." Christian muttered pleased with himself, reaching for thin straps to _fucking finally_ get me naked, eyes widening when I suddenly stopped him with a coy look.

"You first." I whispered, wanting to take a look myself before I gave him one because I was selfish like that, his smile mirroring mine. His impatient hands practically ripped off his shirt's buttons, tiny plastic circles flying left and right as he revealed his muscly, and _so fucking yummy_ chest, light hair covering it in the middle and underneath his navel a happy trail vanishing underneath his belt and pants.

"Woah. Somebody is excited." I noted, giggling when I saw the frantic look he was giving me, his hand impatiently tugging at my dress.

"Wait. Wait." I said again, this time serious while throwing a worried look over my shoulder toward the large window overlooking the dance floor. "Won't they see us?"

"No, they won't. Trust me." Christian said, kissing me before I could speak, my firm hand against his naked chest stopping him. I tried not to get lost in his six pack, those damn muscles making smart girls stupid.

"But we can see them?" I asked, earning a deep sigh and a nod, biting my lip with a blush spreading on my cheeks.

"I don't want to see them while we... . You know." Nervously I gestured between us, gulping down the sudden embarrassment I was feeling, his abs were a great distraction. "I want to see you. Only you."

Fueled by his lust, Christian suddenly circled my thighs with both of his strong arms, making me yelp when he picked me up, my hands searching support on his shoulders. His eyes didn't leave mine, his look full of desire and mine probably with a touch confusion, his feet carrying the both of us to one of the doors I had spotted earlier, my dress nearly slipping down my shoulders now that the support of the zipper was gone.

"I see the Neanderthal behavior is becoming a habit But at least you didn't throw me over your shoulder." I noted dryly, making him smirk as he turned us around to open the door with his elbow, careful not to hit my head against the threshold, a dark room opening to us.

I was surprised to find out that it was a bedroom, its window giving a great view of the skyline of Seattle, a master bed crowning the middle with satin, black sheets, a wardrobe standing a few feet away with yet another desk and a chess table. My eyebrows reached my forehead, _he played chess?_

"You have a bed here? Must be convenient." I said when he placed me back on my feet, the bed only a few steps away from us. I tried not to think about the skanks he had in here, our moment far too precious to be spend on jealousy.

"I stay here most of the nights, it's easier that way." He told me, patiently waiting for permission to continue where we had left things, his gray irides intense.

"Easier with what?" I asked, my nostrils flaring as the forbidden jealousy knocked me off my feet. "With your harem? I bet it is."

Christian groaned in annoyance, massaging his temple with closed eyes before he gave me a displeased look.

"For the last time, there is no harem. I swear I will kill whoever put that bug in your ear."

I scoffed, crossing my arms at my chest as I tapped with my foot, impatient and low-key furious.

"It was your sister Elena, if you are really wondering. I heard her talk to some _suka_ about your weekend escapades."

"Well, my sister is a tattletale who knows shit about my weekends. Beside shouldn't you believe my word more than hers?" He raised both of his perfectly shaped eyebrows at me, knowing too well that he had won this round. I changed the subject professionally, not wanting to dwell on him winning for longer than necessary.

"By the way, do you know that the guy who put a video online of your sister and me fighting in bikinis works here?"

He narrowed his eyes in thoughts as he nod.

"You mean Jack Hynes? Yes, I'm very much aware of that. How do you know that?"

"He helped me to get my name on your super duper privileged list, a fake one so you wouldn't know. Apparently he is my best friend's cousin, I didn't know. Small world, I guess." I answered with a shrug, wondering how we had ended up with James out of all the topics and things we could have done instead with a bed only a few feet away from us, blaming it on my weirdness in the end.

"Why is he still alive, though? I thought our fathers took care of him after the our fight went viral on Youtube. I remember my father calling yours which caused quite some talk at home. Everyone went crazy because _oh my god they are talking like two mature human beings_." I rambled on, chuckling at my own words.

"We roughed him up when we found him, ordered him a bloody steak so to speak." Christian said with a cocky wink, his eyes darkening with the memory. "Bastard should have known better and I would have killed him with my bare hands if he hadn't made us an offer we couldn't refuse."

I snorted, unattractively maybe, brushing away a strand of hair from my face, something that made my dress' straps give up completely and fall to my elbows, baring my naked tits.

"How very _Godfather_ of him. What did he offer you? Was it something super secret about an enemy? Oh my God. About my father?" I gasped, too focused on the subject to notice the longing look he was giving my tits. What did slimy, weird Jack have on my family? Maybe another embarrassing video of me, but would Christian really use that against my father, I couldn't stop wondering. He had feelings for me, had them all along since, I didn't even know since when, I just knew that they had been present on one day, determined to stay after that.

"Is it bad? What does he know? Tell me." I asked Christian with hushed voice, the man across from me too distracted with my nakedness to answer me, but it seemed I didn't need answers, I was capable of imagining worst case scenarios like a pro.

"It's about one of my brothers, right? Dammit. I bet they have impregnated someone out there and now there is a Stepanow bastard running around. My father will have a stroke after killing either of them. And then I will have to kill him for killing my brothers and then someone of my family will probably kill me, and I bet it will be Aunt Valentina with her sharp nails. Oh God, and then you will kill whoever killed me. And then..." My word vomit was cut off when Christian suddenly lay a hand on my mouth, making me widen my eyes and yelp, his gaze dark and impatient.

"Anastasia. You are far too naked for me to talk. The second I remove my hand, I will kiss you and then make love to you, so please stop talking about our families."

 _We only had tonight after all._

* * *

 _Donna mia = My girl, my woman (Italian)_

 _Tesoro = Treasure (Italian) (Old and die hard Twilight fanfiction fans like me should have squealed if they have read EP)_

 _Ublyudok = Bastard (Russian)_

 _Suka = Bitch (Russian)_

 _If wrong, please blame Google and diverse websites._

* * *

 ** _To be continued._**


	3. Quicksilver, The last part

**I DID NOT DELETE THE FIRST 3 CHAPTERS! I PUT THEM TOGETHER INTO ONE CHAPTER BECAUSE ORIGINALLY THIS WAS HOW I WAS GOING TO POST THE ONE-SHOT CALLED "QUICKSILVER".**

 **But due to length I had to cut it into separate chapters, this one being the last installment. I am posting this separately again to defuse confusion, go check out the first 3 parts put together in Chapter 2 if you haven't already. I will add this one to it, too, after a week or so.**

 **This is long. Super long. Longer than I had wanted it to be. Nearly 13k words which makes the total amount of words of "Quicksilver" something along 30k. Oops.**

 **Have fun. AND AS ALWAYS NOT BETAED!**

* * *

 **Quicksilver**

 **Summary:** The story of a silver dress. AU, OOC, AxC, Mob.

 **For all those who forgot who these people are and who are too lazy to reread One Shot #1:** Anastasia is the daughter of Raymond Timur Stepanow, who is the head of the Russian Alliance; she has two brothers with whom she gets along barely since they live their father's mob life style while she detests it because she lost her mother because of his enemies; she has an aunt who is the mother figure in her life; she has undiscovered feelings for the son of her father's biggest enemy, the Italian Christian Hagan Trevisan Grey, with whom she shared a kiss in One Shot #1. This One Shot is set after the last one, but not immediately, some time has passed.

* * *

The silver fabric slid over my shaking body, grazing my hardened nipples, before it ended up as a shiny and soft puddle around my naked ankles, Christian helping me stepping out of it with his hands holding mine, his darkened eyes shamelessly ogling my figure only covered by the black panties I had chosen for tonight.

I had always been confident about my body and its flaws like the silvery, tiny stretch marks on my hips barely visible to the unknown eye, but present if you took a closer look, or the odd shape of my little toes and their refusal to grow proper nails. I had learned to accept and to love my body the way it was, body positivity being one of the few good things my family had thought me, being at peace with myself fully and thoroughly, remembering only a few incidents in which I had doubted my exterior thanks to a fuckboy who had wanted to hurt me after I had rejected him, afterward getting my shit together with the knowledge that my beauty didn't depend on some loser's recognition, I was beautiful because I loved myself, but now, standing in front of Christian, the man I was deeply and madly in love with, watching him _watch me_ , I really wanted to be beautiful in his eyes, too.

I wanted him to want me the way I wanted him.

The insecurities tugged at my confidence, my smart mouth kept shut for once, a nervous tingle going down my spine as I blushed fifty shades of red, my eyes looking anywhere but at him, his gray irides roaming over my curves, my breaths hasty and drying my throat.

I bit my lips, still swollen from our kiss, the one he had given me after making sure I would stop talking about our families and concentrate on the now instead, my hands feeling useless at the sides of my body, the ache to fumble with my hair itching in my finger tips, nervousness bubbling inside me while he took his sweet time taking all of me in, this moment something I had dreamt about all along, yet making me an anxious mess. I did what any nervous girl looking for her _lover's_ approval but not getting it would do, I joked to defuse the tension inside my own body.

"So, this is me." A quiet fit of giggles left my mouth, my eyes searching his, brows furrowing when I noticed the impassive expression on his handsome face. I had hoped for some widened eyes at least, or some wild, passionate _I have to have you now_ look I always read about in novels, the face he was giving me now a little disappointing considering that I had always thought that guys dig me, mostly because of the Russian thing, but also because I had decent genes and took care of myself as much as I could.

"It's a little cold in here." I said quietly, brushing over my arms as goosebumps spread on them, mostly because of the aforementioned chilly weather situation, but also because of the panic bamboozling me from the inside out. I forced a smile, my cheeks hurting, while internally cursing myself over and over again, the need to get dressed and to get out of here growing with each passing second, maybe going for a punch first since he was being a dick, but also not wanting to hurt him being the silly girl in love I was, _crap, crap, crap_.

 _I can't believe I'm doing this._

"Christian, you are totally killing my self-esteem right now. Could you please say or do something?" I gulped down the knot in the back of my throat after practically forcing out each word, the tears trying to make their way into my eyes suppressed because crying in front of him now would be the ultimate head shot and not something my ego could ever recover from.

"Do you want me to leave?" I asked with a dull pain torturing my beating heart, his silence hurting me more than anything he could have said, his eyes flickering with confusion as his lips parted, a tiny breath escaping.

"No." He said with a shake of his head, relief spreading in me when I finally got some kind of reaction from him.

"Well, then talk to me or do something, I don't know. I am naked in front of you and usually when I am naked in front of a guy, I get a reaction, but you are not giving me a reaction and that freaks me out on so many levels." I rambled, nervously licking my lips as I tried to hide my breasts underneath my arms.

Christian flared his nostrils at me, his eyes intense as he starred into mine, a displeased curl on his lips.

"I don't want to imagine what kind of reactions your naked body gets from other guys." He grunted, his hands _fucking finally_ reaching out to touch me, opting for my face again, his thumbs gently brushing over my cheekbones. I melted into his touch, relieved when I heard the quiet curse leaving his mouth.

"I needed a moment to take you in, all of you bare and in front of me. You don't know how long I have been dreaming about this." He mumbled with a tortured tone, sweet and painful Italian words following, none of them I understood, but none of them foreign to me since they mirrored what I was feeling, his forehead pressed again mine, his body close enough for our naked chests to touch, my skin feeling ablaze as my nerves exploded due to him being so, so, _so close_.

"I am here now." I whispered with my heart feeling like it was finally free of the thousand knots painfully tying it, my lips searching his, one kiss, two kiss, more kisses short yet deep following, whispered words exchanged with silly laughs in between, my hands on his stubbly jaw as his made their way down to my waist, his grip firm and gentle at the same time, his lips deepening our kisses eventually, the butterflies in my tummy going bonkers.

Our tongues, wet and dancing, met each other, knowing no consequences and no rules, knowing no obstacles and no enemies, just two bodies made to love each other unconditionally, just two human beings made to love each other unconditionally, maybe not pure and innocently, maybe selfishly, maybe destructively, but carelessly because _we only had tonight_.

" _Vita mia_." He whispered in between kisses, not giving me translations or explanations, diving in for another toe curling-ly good kiss, lips sucking and tugging, teeth gently nibbling, smiles curling mouths and soft giggles interrupting the wet noises our mouths made, firm hands slowly pushing me backward once again for tonight, only stopping when my calves hit the bed.

I let my hands roam over the soft curls of his hair, to his long and thick neck, his wide shoulders and muscular arms, the way they flexed making sharp arousal jolt through my heated body because I was a sucker for those, his heart beating rapidly underneath his flesh as I greedily touched his chest, my palms rubbing his nipples, something that made him bite my bottom lip and pull me closer to him with a tight grip on my butt, soft and circular brushes over my clothed skin mixed with quick and painful squeezes making my lady bits tingle with desire.

We were a mess of wet lips greedily sucking on each other and hands roaming over bodies, determined to take in every nook and every perfect imperfection, something to remember in the times we would be parted and we had yet to face, our night surprisingly going well for now.

"I'm low-key impressed that we haven't been interrupted yet." I giggled, a moan following my words as I threw back my head, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of my throat, sucking and biting rhythmically, before he continued his torture on another spot, probably not wanting to give me a hickey.

"I was sure that one of our fathers, maybe even both would burst right in or something."

"Let's not jinx, shall we?" Christian grunted, pressing a chaste kiss right in between my collarbones before he practically pushed me backward, yet another yelp escaping my lips as I fell on my ass, the bed saving me from meeting the floor.

"Jerk." I scoffed at him with furrowed brows, watching him smirk cockily, something that triggered me immensely, I could play dirty, too, after all.

"Anyone daring to interrupt us now is a dead ma- Shit!" He roared loudly, his hands finding my brown waves in a tight fist, his dick twitching underneath his pants as I wetted the fabric with open mouth kisses, my hands cupping his hardened flesh above his clothes, silent curses leaving his mouth intoxicating me with confidence, my fingers playfully tugging at his belt and zipper as I looked up to him with a coy look. His face was far from being impassive now, something I noted with giddy pride, my teasing reaching its peak when I finally, _fucking finally_ like Christian groaned out, fumbled with his belt, his hands impatiently reaching down to help me, my giggle making him roll his darkened eyes at me, the sound of his zipper being dragged down loud inside the silent room.

My hand found soft boxer briefs first hiding a not so soft dick when his pants hit the floor, my torture continuing here with the same pattern of open mouth kisses and rubs, something Christian noted with pleased moans and sharp breaths, his hands still in between my waves, the ache to push and pull palpable in the way he clenched his fists whenever I let my tongue roam over the clothed tip of his cock, long and hard waiting for me to tease.

"Ah. You are a cruel woman." He hissed with widened eyes, a loud groan escaping his lips when I slowly took the waistband of his briefs in between my teeth, my tongue deliberately teasing his skin, his abdomen flexing just like his fists, my head shaking slowly from left to right as I tried to drag his boxers down, a pointless task but yet so sinfully erotic, my smug grin unstoppable.

Eventually I had mercy with him, tugging his boxers down enough to reveal the reddish tip of his dick, pre-cum leaking out as whitely pearls, my lips closing around him, a hard suck making him curse loudly.

"Fuck!" He roared with bucking hips, my tongue circling his salty skin and my hands tightly holding his last piece of clothing getting impatient as arousal pulsed through my body right into my clit, the want to please him growing with each passing second.

I giggled, my lips tasting of his pre-cum, when he nearly stumbled as he stepped out of his pants and boxers, throwing them somewhere to his right, the hardness of his shaft making his movements less gallant, something neither of us cared about as soon as he was standing in front of me again, his cock with angrily pulsing veins underneath its skin long and hard in front of me, waiting for me.

I knew that this wasn't going to be an ordinary blowjob, something important making Christian different than any other guy I had shared this experience with before.

Love.

He showed me that he felt it, too, stopping me right when I was going for another taste of him, his hands tilting my chin so I was looking up, his eyes asking for permission, asking for reassurance, asking for something I had no answer for, not yet at least.

"I..."

"I know." I interrupted him with a smile, seeing all the things I hadn't let him speak out in his eyes, I didn't need more.

"Me, too." I whispered, showing him all the things I felt through my eyes, too. He nod with a relieved expression, not daring to interrupt my meet'n'greet with his dick, maybe enjoying it a little too much to be a gentleman. I couldn't be bothered less with it, to be honest, I wanted him in my mouth, even ladies were allowed to want those kind of things.

I tasted his salty skin mixed with the bitter taste of his pre-cum, licking from top to bottom first, his breaths hasty when I kissed and licked the underside of his dick, the spot connecting it to his balls, my fingernails dig into the flesh of his thighs as I slowly made my way up shamelessly licking him like a lollipop, my lips sucking on his leaking tip before I released him with a 'plop'.

"Was that alright?" I asked timidly, needing his approval like air to breath at this moment, the way he nod with parted lips and heated cheeks doing wonders to my self-esteem, my confidence back with a force.

"More than alright, _bellezza._ " Christian assured me, gently brushing away my hair from my face, one hand finding its place in my hair again, the other on my cheek where his thumb brushed over my blushed skin.

"Okay." I mumbled, more to myself than to him, enjoying this as much as he did since pleasing him made me bloom with a smug poise, his pleasure causing mine.

He grunted with a low timbre when my hand found his hard flesh, slowly pumping up and down with an occasional look toward his face, relief washing over me when I saw the way he had closed his eyes, panting whenever I sped up my movements. His hips bucked again as my lips closed around his tip, sucking in rhythm to my hand, the slight push of his hand making me open up and take more of him in, but nothing too wild for me to choke, although his size was worrisome, my tongue circling him as I tried to bob my head up and down while taking deep breaths through my nose.

"You will be the death of me." A wheeze left his mouth, his fingernails digging into my scalp as I bravely tried to take all of him into my mouth, his dick wet from all the licking and sucking, my cheeks aching yet the need to press my nose into his groin with his pulsing member inside me too intense for me to resist any longer, my desperate try to gulp around him making him curse while he took my head in between both of his hands, keeping me in place while he literally started fucking my mouth. I couldn't stop feeling proud of myself even though my jaw burned and tears tried to squeeze their way out of my eyes, my lungs begging for a proper breath eventually.

A loud, wet noise filled the silence of the room as I let go off him, hastily taking deep breaths, a clear twine made out of saliva connecting my swollen lips to his dick, his hand spreading the wetness all over him as he started to pump himself in front of me, groaning and biting his lips, my hands reaching up to take over.

"I don't want to know how and with whom you learned this, but fuck me if you aren't great at sucking cock." Christian let out, sounding in awe, his hand holding my chin as his fingers brushed over my swollen lips. "You are my dirty little girl, aren't you?"

"Please don't call me little while your dick is still wet with my saliva." I said with furrowed brows, never having been a big fan of that stupid nickname he liked to tease me with, but now out of all the times it felt just wrong and a type of kinky I didn't particularly enjoy.

His eyes glistened with mischief, his thumb making its way past between my lips. I bit it playfully, my hand still pleasing him.

"Thank God I have lots of sweet Italian things to call you instead." He chuckled softly, smearing my own spit on my lips and chin, whispering his next words, the dirty ones, the ones he used to make me suck his cock again, _one last time, baby, before I take care of you, okay? Yeah, that's a good girl, all the way down. Do you want me to come into your tight, hot mouth, mhh? Fuck yeah, you are amazing._

Christian was a sweet talker in his daily life, even I knew that without talking to him for longer than five seconds in public, I shouldn't have been surprised when he got me into deepthroating him again and again, my throat aching while I wantonly squirmed in my seat, desperate for any kind of friction while the bastard simply enjoyed fucking my mouth, even making me kneel in front of him for easier access, his hands using my head however he wanted, his eyes occasionally checking if I was alright before he blissfully closed them again.

I coughed with my lungs burning, searching support on the edge of his bed when he finally let go off me, the fact that he hadn't come yet making my eyebrows reach my hairline, his stamina somewhere between worrisome and admirable.

"You asshole." I hissed at him when he had the audacity to grin smugly. "That was the one and only time we have done this, capiche?"

"You didn't like it?" He asked with one arched brow, the need to punch him growing.

"Yes, maybe, but that's not the point. I don't think I will be able to use my jaw anymore." I said, flexing my jaw from left to right, the ache still fresh, hearing his laugh before his sudden movement took me by surprise. Skillful arms had me up and turned, tossing me into the bed as something between shrieking and laughing left my mouth, his eyes intensely starring into mine while he slowly crawled up toward me, spreading my legs with his broad shoulders, shamelessly nuzzling the tender spot between my thighs.

A high gaps left my mouth, his breath warm against my wet panties, whispered words about being sorry, about being a selfish asshole who couldn't get enough of my pretty mouth, _please forgive me, baby's_ and _let me make it up to you's_ bewitching me as much as the open mouth kisses he placed right above my clit, tongue flicking to tease me.

"Do you want me to take these off? Mhh?" He mumbled against the skin of thighs, biting and tugging at my flesh, one hand rubbing over my clothed pubic bone, the other teasing my nipple, his nose brushing over the band of my panties. "Do you want me to see what you have been teasing me with each and every Sunday at church and brunch?"

"Have you thought about my pussy while we were at church? I'm not sure we can save your soul from hell anymore." I joked, wiggling my hips as his fingers slowly made their way into my panties, pleasure jolting through me quickly when he flicked my swollen lips with his finger tips, his mouth clasping my puckered clit above my panties at the same time.

"I'm not sure I have a soul anyway, so hell is what I will get no matter what. I can at least make sure to enjoy it." Christian said, suddenly two of his fingers inside my wet, sensitive flesh, my body spasming with pulsing heat.

"Oh fuck." I gasped, my hands finding his hair as I shamelessly bucked my hips against his face and fingers, his breath warm and wet against my panties. Crooked stars twinkled behind my closed lids, the pleasure rocketing through me with the movement of his hand, teasing and pleasing at the same time, my muscles flexing and clenching around him, his dirty words only white noise in my ears as my toes curled. _Do you want to come's_ and _you are so fucking tight's_ barely swirled around my buzzing ears, the mischief audible in his voice, the knot between my legs pulsing when he hit that one fucking spot… Ugh.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" I grunted, low-key disappointed as he slowly crawled up toward me, looking as hungry as a wolf with his darkened eyes fixated on mine. He ignored my annoyed tone, shutting my mouth with his lips, a feverish kiss exchanged as he made himself comfortable between my legs. I squirmed when his hard dick rubbed against my wet panties, looking for extra friction as I desperately wiggled my hips underneath him, a loud moan escaping me just when he grasped my chin tightly.

"Say you are mine." Christian grunted in between kisses, tongues wet and dancing around each other, hips bucking and pushing, hands roaming over ticklish curves and muscles, goosebumps spreading on naked skin.

"Isn't that obvious?" I murmured, my chest suddenly tightening as I realized that while I belonged to him, _we belonged together_ , we never fully could be _us_ _._

Dark eyes searched mine, a look somewhere between frantic and gloomy shadowing his face, his forehead warm and sweaty against mine.

"Not obvious enough." He whispered tightly, gentle kisses brushing my cheekbones, nose and lips. "If I could I would make sure everybody knows."

 _Don't go there now, please. Not now, not like this. We only have tonight._

"Christian." I breathed with a burning hot fist squeezing my heart painfully, grasping his face with my hands, the tears sitting in my eyes, treacherous and unwelcome.

"Please don't." I added, trying to give him a stern look. "You know it's not an option."

"It's the only option we have, Anastasia." He muttered dryly, his hasty fingers suddenly tugging at my panties, a surprised gasp leaving my lips as he took them off skillfully, our movements far from gallant while we navigated with long limbs and sweaty bodies, the serious tension from before finding its place on the floor beside the bed just like my black panties.

When he parted my legs once again, making himself comfortable in between with his cock rubbing against my sensitive, wet folds, he successfully brought sexy back – Justin Timberlake would be proud. It sure was a great distraction from the heart break waiting to captivate us by the end of the night.

A groan escaped my mouth when he slowly started shifting his hips, his length brushing over my lips over and over again, crooked figures behind my eyes whenever his tip hit the bundle of nerves between my legs, the sensations he caused making my toes curl. I wrapped my legs around him tightly, needing him closer, needing more of him, lips searching lips, desperate kisses exchanged as tongues fought, teeth gently and not so gently nibbling on swollen skin, soon enough any reality losing meaning and making room for now and only now.

His name was on my lips again and again, silent pleas and begging, shameless and brazen yet welcome, words swallowed in endless seeming kisses, my feet digging into his firm butt to encourage to give me what I want, what I was desperately aching for, his patience unyielding as he took his sweet time of what he called "devouring me". I frowned at his words, my voice high as I told him to fuck me finally, the desire bubbling inside me, his chuckle smug and arrogant like the bastard he was, my desperation obviously amusing him. Hmpf.

"We only have a couple of hours. Stop teasing me." I fumed with flared nostrils, a breath caught in the back of my throat when he suddenly reached down to massage my clit with his talented fingers. "Oh. Fuck."

"I know. I'm trying to make them worth the waiting we had to endure until tonight." Christian grunted, his words barely reaching my ears as I bit my lip in order to prevent an embarrassing moan, his fingers in an endless seeming rhythm of rubbing my pulsing clit and penetrating my needy pussy.

"It's so worth it. So, so worth it by now. Please." I begged with a high gasp, my body wiggling underneath his heavy one, the disappointment caused by him withdrawing his fingers forgotten as soon as I felt his dick at my entrance, _fucking finally_.

Excitement buzzed through my feverish body, his questioning look registered from the corner of my eyes, his face as flushed as mine. I didn't miss the question in his eyes, he was asking for permission, something I gladly gave him.

"I'm on the pill." I whispered, feeling him visibly relax above me, somehow the thought of feeling him bare and without a stinky condom between us calming us both.

"Legs up, baby." He ordered in a no-nonsense tone, kneeling in front of me with his dick in his hand, my legs soon rested against his chest as he quickly and smoothly entered me, a high-pitched yelp leaving my lips in surprise. I grasped the covers underneath me tightly, suddenly feeling full, full of him, the discomfort only lasting a few seconds.

It was so much, but yet not enough.

"Fuck." He cursed over and over again, Italian words following, some I understood, some I didn't, fuck if I cared. My hips started bucking automatically, dizziness spreading in me as my body numbed when he started to moving inside me, slow and firm first, then harder and faster, a concentrated look on his face giving away how he was trying to prevent an early orgasm, mine somewhere close and tingling with every push and pull. My insides vibrated with each groan and moan leaving our mouths, his eyes dark and frantic as they searched mine, a look I knew well enough, I saw it each week at Sunday's brunch across the room in between friends and foes, not sure which category he fit, but he definitively felt like a friend now.

It felt like thousands, millions, an infinite number of tiny needles were poking right through my sensitive skin, activating a wild wave of buzzing and consuming pleasure which spread through every corner of my body, tying my tongue and numbing my senses, only him above me of importance, the rest of the world shut out in a way we two usually shut out our own real feelings, scared of possible scenarios they could cause and scared of the responsibility they brought along.

Tonight, though, we were reckless. And fuck, if reckless didn't feel good.

"Christian." I moaned out his name, his hips rolling against mine, his dick massaging me from the inside out. My eyes squeezed tightly, I digged my fingernails into his upper arms, drawing blood and making him flinch, a loud curse drowning the sounds of our bodies, wet and moving against each other, left his mouth in return, his rhythm only stumbling for a few seconds before he thrust faster.

"Christian." I yelped this time, higher and higher with the pleasure he was causing, my legs aching leaned against his chest and shoulders, my body revolting with instincts taking over as I got lost in the moment, him, him, _only fucking him_ _, only him fucking me._

"Yes, baby. Yes." He grunted, a groan leaving his mouth as I flexed my muscles around him, his head thrown back. I had always found him rather attractive, the epitome of male beauty, but seeing him like this, sweaty and flushed above me, I was sure he had never been more beautiful before. He was mine, physically only for tonight, but his heart was mine forever.

"I..." I gulped down the words, my mind searching for the right ones, the high he was causing too distracting to talk properly.

"Do you want to come? Do you want me to make you come?" He whispered hoarsely, slowing his pace deliberately to drive me mad, his hips rolling against mine in a sweet, sweet torture, my eyes reaching heaven as my teeth pulled on my own lips. I groaned with a desperate nod, trying to pull him closer against me with my legs on his shoulders, a forlorn act, in my desperate state trying to pleasure myself by tugging at my own hardened nipples, a task that caught Christian off guard for a few seconds.

"Or do you want to make yourself come? I bet you could come like this, with me inside you and your nipples between your own fingers. Hmm? Could you do that for me, baby?"

 _Son of a bitch._

"Or you could do us both the favor and just fuck me already. Enough of the love making, I know you love me. Now I need you to fuck me." I hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes darkening immediately just as his thrusts got unapologetically hard, his movements making the headboard of his bed hit the wall behind it, _thud, thud, thud._

I let out a shameless cry, ignoring his words about me _being a dirty, little girl who wanted to be fucked, he would gladly fuck me, only him, nobody else was allowed to touch me, he would kill them all, God, he would kill every man who had touched me until tonight,_ his possessiveness turning me on big time, the stars behind my eyes begging to be bright, brighter, the brightest, but shying away from full view, especially when Christian decided to torture me some more.

"I bet you are glad now that I killed plants and damaged public property." Christian let out smugly, referring to his presents which had eventually induced our night together, his hips still bucking against mine slower than I would prefer though, my legs finding their place left and right of him when he leaned down to kiss me quickly, our chests pressed together, our heartbeats swift and excited. I rolled my eyes at his comment, my body revolting in the pleasure he was causing, the friction yet never enough, so close to what I wanted, yet so... Fuck.

The orgasm hit me like a wrecking ball, my body pulling itself together, so small it nearly fit the bundle of nerves between my legs, before it exploded and expanded, filling me from inside out. A warm feeling spread through me, crushing every nerve's end and senses, a feeling between lost and found, alive and dead, the most vulnerable state of the human body oddly the most satisfying one.

I threw my head left and right, Christian fucking me through my orgasm with his words barely touching my ears, my body pulsing from head to toe as the last waves of pleasure sneaked away slowly, making room for a new one, a feeling I wanted to relive again. Sex had never felt better before, for once my heart and my vagina going hand in hand.

Christian gasped when I suddenly pushed against his chest, using every drop of strength I had which wasn't a lot since I was exhausted, the moment of surprise making him less coordinated, though. A dirty grin crossed his pretty lips when he suddenly was lying on his back, my hands looking for support on his chest as I rocked my hips above him, taking control, my tits bouncing with every move of my hips and his hands soon fondling them. I closed my eyes in complete bliss as I rocked above him, enjoying the tiptoeing pleasure making its way back toward me.

"I love a woman who knows what she wants." He groaned with pouted lips, his hands roughly grasping my hips as he started thrusting quickly, my mouth shaped as an 'O', my nerves ablaze with sensations making me unable to answer him for a few seconds.

"I thought I am the only woman you love." I grunted with a frown when I finally found my voice again, my fingers digging into the skin of his chest, making him hiss in pain. _I better be the only woman you love._

"How can I ever again love somebody else than you, _donna mia_?" He whispered quietly, suddenly pulling me toward him, a deep kiss following before he hold me against his chest, the fast and wild rhythm of our hips switching into a slow, sensual one. Whispered words, mostly love declarations and sweet, sweet promises, barely reaching my ears, yet reaching my heart, the tears of earlier finally breaking free, uncontrollably, his kisses catching them, his love catching me.

I hadn't known that I was falling, until he caught me.

"I love you." We said again and again, repeated words known to lose their meanings usually, but with him they got only stronger.

 _Fuck you all for making him loving him so hard while it is the easiest thing I have ever done._

"Christian." I whispered with a tight knot in the back of my throat, wanting to be his for once and all, even if only for tonight, even if it seemed impossible, even if it was never meant to be.

"I know, baby. I know." He said back, kissing me once again, the movements of his hips bringing back the crooked figures behind my eyes, the orgasm slowly approaching me, gentle and sensual like our love making.

He quickly turned us around, my back hitting the mattress as he moved between my legs, knowing how to use his speed and force to make my toes curl, my insides burning and freezing at the same time, the voices in my head shutting up completely, just the tingling feeling between my legs counting, pulsing inside me and waving through every nerve, before it finally filled out every little corner from the tips of my ears to my little toes, completely consuming me.

"I'm yours." I gasped out of breath, the high he had caused slowly vanishing, my cheeks burning as I watched him thrust with squeezed lips, a perplexed expression crossing his face suddenly. "I'm so fucking yours."

"I know. Fuck, I know." He grunted suddenly, his body hitting mine when he crashed against me, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he came inside me, his groans filling my ears as my heart beat rapidly in my chest. I hold him against my chest as he came back to the now and then, his breath slowly normalizing just like mine, our bodies sweaty and flushed against each other.

"I love you." I whispered, gently kissing his forehead once, twice, feeling him shiver against me, my heart throbbing and overwhelmed, my legs crossed behind his back.

"I love you, too. So fucking much." He grunted, escaping my look as he leaned down to kiss my chest where my heart beat underneath. "I love this heart and everything it beats for."

"Even my father?" I snorted quietly, making him chuckle.

"Yes, even him just because you love him." He said with an eye roll. "Although a little differently than I love you."

"That I hope for the sake of your safety." I joked, quiet murmurs exchanged between us, the intensity of earlier making room for post coition humor, something silly and unexpected, mostly because we never got to be silly and amused around each other, but it was surely a nice variety. I knew that I didn't know a lot about this man, practically speaking, I knew that he was a complicated mosaic full of dark and light facets, some I was ready to face and some I hoped never to see directed at me, and I knew that my feelings for him were build on short moments together, secret glances exchanged over the oblivious heads of our families, smiles coy and flirty making my heart go bonkers inside my chest, goosebumps spreading on my body whenever I was close enough to hear his voice, the dark tone when he was angry and the honest and loud laughter whenever he was amused with something his opponent said, I knew that we made absolutely no sense, our feelings too intense for a couple who hadn't spend a night together before, let alone went on a date, but I also knew that with Christian intensity came with the moment and not with time.

It had been there the first time we had played at the playground at yet another traditional Sunday brunch after church, wobbly knees and innocent minds oblivious to the ugly truth of our families.

It had been there when our fathers had made sure that we didn't end up in the same class at kindergarten, somehow fate being on our side when it had made sure we actually got to visit the same establishment and somehow our mothers insisting on us to attend _Mrs. Williams' kindergarten_ as if it was any better than any other school, the teachers making sure that we never got to play together, but now and then we had found our way, building sandcastles together which he would end up destroying in a silly, boyish manner, my tears turning into anger as I pushed him face front into the sand.

It had been there when we went to school, our fathers putting their feet down and making sure we weren't even in the same state, his childhood continuing in another part of the country at his uncle's place, new friends only causing a short-lived distraction before my mind had wondered back to the boy with the gray eyes who loved to build castles with me before he destroyed them.

It had been there when years later I saw him at church, my bible nearly slipping out of my hands, the wobbly kneed sandcastle destroyer having grown into a handsome, lanky teenager throwing sweet smiles at anyone looking, including me, my face burning as I crossed myself like any other well behaved Catholic girl would do whenever she allowed the devil inside her head.

It had been there when one fortunate day at a wedding both of our families had been invited to, he had cornered me, obviously drunk from the alcohol he had been secretly drinking, telling me that I looked beautiful, my treacherous teenage body reacting in full force to a cute boy complimenting me, his lips nearly touching mine when he went for a kiss with a breath stinking like Bourbon, my nervousness and my inner Aunt Valentina voice making me push him away before I ran, a dumb mistake with the heels I was just getting used to. He had ended up seeing my panties that day when I fell face first against the carpeted floor, my dress somewhere around my blushing head, the embarrassment I had felt as deadly as a gunshot, the sorrow I had felt even worse since the thought of kissing him had seriously planted seeds from there on.

It had been intense watching us grow up, into totally different people nonetheless, our families' lifestyle corrupting him with age, my distaste for it obvious in every move of mine, the fact that he was the enemy my father always warned us about making me learn to hide my true feelings, lock him and every feeling he caused in a small box inside my head, the key thrown away.

And yet, each Sunday as if God was humoring us over and over again, we were idiotic enough to catch a look, a smile, anything we could get, the silent words between us audible inside our hearts, visible in our eyes and palpable in our buzzing skin whenever we were so close, yet so far, voices not directed at each other touching ears, laughter not directed at each other making our hearts skip beats, and _longing, so much longing._

The worst kind of longing, the suppressed one, the one that always broke free no matter how and when, the one that had made him tease me with texts at Sunday brunch weeks ago, the one that had made us kiss in the secrecy of the bathroom of the _Heathman Hotel,_ the one that had made Christian send me the flowers and the painting across from my restaurant and the one that had made me put on a ridiculously slutty dress to prove him something meaningless just because it was a great excuse to see him.

If that wasn't love, I didn't know what it was. Surely, we couldn't be imagining all of this, surely the intensity was real, real enough for the both of us at least.

 _I love you,_ we said over and over again, kisses accenting our words as our bodies trembled against each other with ecstasis rocking through us, his lips at my ears soon enough, asking a question again and again, hoping for an answer, maybe even fearing it, but nonetheless hopeful, tossing and turning me as he introduced me to a new kind of pleasure, the one with love, maybe hoping to make me unreluctant with the orgasms he gave me.

Hours later, when our bodies were burning with exhaustion and our hearts were overfilled with joy, I gave him my answer, never more convinced about my decisions before, the biggest kind of fuck you given to our families.

"Yes. Yes. Yes." I cried out one last time, our bodies crashing into the bed, his breath heavy against my neck, the pillow soft underneath me as I smiled into it, feeling giddy with what was yet to come.

We lay beside each other, whispering and giggling at our words, my body still tired from rounds of love making, his hunger for me seeming endless just like his stamina, a calm peace putting its silver wraps around us like a silky cocoon, our little bubble for tonight. He played with my hair nonchalantly, brushing over the blushed skin of my cheek just to tease me, a smile curling his lips.

"Why did you send me the flowers?" I whispered, dreading the answer, even after witnessing his love for me my silly mind still fearing that he was only playing games with me, games I would make sure he would be last to play if that really was the case. I was sure that my heels, lying neglected somewhere in his office, could be a good weapon if needed, but I would rather not drill a hole into the head of the man I loved.

He took his time to answer my question, going for a sweet kiss first, his eyes somewhere between sorrowful and hopeful.

"I guess I wanted to make sure you didn't forget about me."

My chest tightened as relief washed over me.

"As if I could ever do that." I admitted, pressing a kiss on his chest where his heart beat underneath, giddy joy spreading in me.

"And the painting? Did you draw it yourself?" I joked when I looked up, catching his grin as he shook his head.

"I wish I was that talented. I helped some kid out in the streets, he had troubles with a local gang, and in return I asked for a sweet, romantic gesture for the woman I love."

"I didn't know you could be that romantic." I giggled, my cheeks reddening as I enjoyed the thought of him loving me.

"To be honest, Anastasia, you hadn't have the chance to get to know this side of me because of obvious reasons." He noted with a pointed look, making me nod in thoughts. "Said reasons had me fear for both of our lives after my impulsive decision to contact you. You taking your sweet ass time to get back to me made me even more anxious."

"But I'm glad you did. Otherwise I never would have found the courage to come here and party like there is no tomorrow which was fun, though."

"Yeah, it certainly looked _fun_ when you were dancing half-naked with that fucker." Christian grunted with a pout, something I kissed off right of his face, my insides tingling with desire again. He was far too hot to pout like that.

"Be reasonable. If I hadn't come here in my fabulous dress and if I hadn't danced with said fucker, we wouldn't be here right now." I tried to argue, enjoying his jealousy more than I enjoyed my own, my fingers tugging at his chin to make him look at me when he tried to turn his head away.

"Oh, I am being reasonable. I could go downstairs and break every single one of his bones, but I am not because I am reasonable." He said dryly, making me roll my eyes.

"Is this how this will be? You threatening to kill any man looking my way?" I asked with a judgmental look, his brows reaching his forehead.

"Really, Anastasia? You are not better than me. If I remember you were the one threatening me if I ever let another skank touch me."

"Yeah, I said I would castrate you, but I never said I would break every single one of her bones. There is a difference." I snapped, crossing my arms at my naked chest as I tried to defend my possessive ass.

He simply laughed at my words, shaking his head as he palmed his face.

"Good to know that your crazy fits mine."

 _It really did._

"I love your crazy." I confessed with a smile, my heart leaping inside my chest, a chaste kiss finding my lips before he told me that he loved my crazy, too, he loved my everything.

"I guess I can't be that innocent after all." I noted, pleased with myself, referring to his weird obsession with the innocence he believed I had. "Not the way I partied tonight, and not the way I get crazy when I think about you and other women."

Gray eyes glistened with mischief as he regarded me with a tilted head, a smile tugging his swollen lips, swollen from sucking, kiss and biting. _Yum._

"The only thing proving your innocence's absence a little was the way you sucked my cock, little girl. But even that was short-lived, your heart is still pure, Anastasia."

A shocked gasp left my mouth, the same one he had fucked thoroughly hours before, I sat up, bothered when I uncovered my naked upper body in the process. His eyes quickly darted down to the hickey he had left right underneath my left boob just because he had felt like marking me, that possessive ass.

"I can't even find words." I huffed, wetting my lips. "You are very rude, you know? Where is the sweet names calling man from earlier? And stop calling my heart pure. I doubt that anyone growing up in the world we live in can be pure. Why are you insisting on proving me that I am so innocent?"

"Rude is probably one of the nicer things you have called me until now. I can live with that." He snorted, crossing his arms behind his head as he lay back completely relaxed. "The question is, Anastasia, why are you insisting on proving me that you are not innocent? What is wrong with being innocent?"

"I don't know. I'm just not innocent." I whispered with a queasy feeling heavy on my chest, caught off guard with his question. "I mean, how can I be? I am my father's daughter."

Christian sighed, his lips curling into a crooked line as his hand reached for mine in a tight embrace. He placed our hands above his chest, his heart beating against my palm.

"Our families don't define us, Anastasia. Our decisions do, decisions we make with our heart's content or the morals we set up ourselves inside our minds. You didn't choose to be your father's daughter, did you? You chose to distance yourself from his lifestyle as much as you can, something nobody has done in our circle, you chose to build up a life on your own. You don't work for your father like your brothers do, you don't want to be a part of what he does, something I greatly respect, and you are also not supporting him in any way. So what about yourself makes you think that you couldn't be innocent?" He asked softly, my teeth digging into the flesh of my lips as I thought about what he said.

"My heart is far from pure, Anastasia." He added with narrowed eyes, not waiting for me to react to his words. "I have done so many things, things I would never want you to know just because I am a selfish bastard who fears that you will hate him as soon as you see the monster I have become, things I am not proud of and things I secretly _am_ proud of. Yet here I am, shamelessly and brazenly in love with you, wanting something I clearly don't deserve."

I flinched with his words, the thought of him being unworthy of me sounded ridiculous, at least while my heart clenched whenever I thought about him. I knew that Christian was no different than all the men I hated in my own family, I knew that his hands were covered in blood of innocent and not so innocent people, but while everybody else disgusted me, I didn't shudder with the thought that the same hands which touched me gently, lovingly even had hurt many people just because he had dutifully fulfilled orders, orders given to him by his own father.

Love was a strange thing.

"Just because you have done bad things, you aren't automatically bad yourself." I murmured with a frown, our fingers gently playing with each other at his chest.

"Well, just because your father has done bad things, you can't automatically be bad, either." Christian noted with a pointed look, thinking he had won this round. My frown deepened, I pulled my hand away from his instinctively, searching comfort as I hugged my knees and pulled them as tightly as possible toward my chest.

Dark clouds circled my mind, my good mood taking a nosedive. I had certainly not expected to talk about this tonight, with him out of all people.

"I have done bad things, too." I said with pursed lips, escaping his curious gray eyes. My graze wandered to a mirror standing a few feet away from his bed, the picture given to me hilarious since my hair was a messy crown on top of my head, only my eyes showing my true emotions, the sorrow set deep in my icy blue.

He snorted as he sat up, his lips pressing feather-lightly kisses on my shoulder, a soft hum leaving him as he searched comfort in the nook of my neck. I suppressed a smile when he whispered sweet, sweet Italian words, some I had gotten used to in the last few hours and some new ones, all of them making my insides warm and cozy equally, though.

"I sincerely doubt that, _tesero_."

"I have." I insisted firmly, the memories flooding me. "I must have."

"You must have? What's that supposed to mean?" His hand reached up to tug at my chin, confused eyes starring into mine when I unintentionally turned my head toward him. My teeth found my lip again as I tried to escape his look, regretting bringing this up, damn me.

My salvation came in the form of a shrill ringing phone on his nightstand, a little red dot blinking as it ringed, Christian's eyes widening before he turned to pick it up with a curse on his mouth. I sighed with relief, happy to have escaped the uncomfortable conversation for now at least, wondering how I had missed the phone which was right beside the bed, clearly all the love making had occupied me thoroughly.

"Taylor." Christian grunted into the phone, obviously displeased with the interruption, his brows furrowing as he listened to what Taylor was saying on the other line. I remembered having heard that name before, the memory of a suit wearing bodyguard coming to my mind, the dubious looks he had given me making me frown. He sure had seemed to know who I was, maybe even fearing his boss' safety, but seriously what did he think I was capable of? I certainly had no special murder skills, the only danger I posed was a potential heartbreak.

"How many? Any trouble?" Christian continued, his voice oddly calm even though his body tensed beside me, my curiosity peaked. The dreading feeling spreading in my stomach gave me an inkling about what was going on, Taylor's call only having one possible reason. Someone must have snitched on me, nothing I hadn't expected since I hadn't been discreet with my plans for tonight, but I certainly hadn't expected the fear spreading inside me. Saying fuck you to my family was easier in theory, the reality was making me fear to lose something I loved with all my heart and soul.

"Christian?" I asked timidly, not ready to face what was coming and far too happy in our little bubble, even if we were discussing topics I would have liked to avoid.

He just raised a hand toward me, a rude gesture I noted with one cocked eyebrow, intently listening to what his bodyguard was telling him.

"Tell them we will be downstairs soon. Ask them politely not to cause a scene. If they do, make sure they don't get inside." Christian sighed, massaging his temples with closed eyes, nervously licking his lips. "And, Taylor? Make sure our men are ready, just in case."

"They came to pick me up." I said with my guts clenching painfully when he hung up, not even asking, knowing the truth without him confirming it. My heart took a nosedive, hitting the pits of my stomach where hot acid etched it mercilessly, the end of our night together far too soon for my liking.

"How many?" I asked with a quiet voice, the shock tying a complicated knot in the back of my throat right above my vocal cords. A cold shiver ran through me when Christian mumbled the answer I was fearing.

"Too many."

His shoulders slouched, before he turned toward me, naked limbs shamelessly bare in front of me, his eyes searching mine with a surprisingly firm look.

"Anastasia? Do you want to go?" He asked softly, hands embracing mine tightly, eyes hopeful, _silly and hopeful_ , my heart fluttering. "If you want to stay with me, I won't let them get you, do you understand? Just say the word and I will make sure that they fuck off."

Being shot would have hurt less. _Please. Don't do this now._

"Christian." I gulped down the tears, slowly shaking my head as I watched his eyes narrow. "You know this would not be the right way to do _this_."

"I don't think there is a right or wrong way, there is only one way to get what we want. So, if you stay, if you honor me with staying here with me, I will make sure that you never regret your decision. I will make sure you don't get hurt, I will make sure to give you your heart's desires. Just say the word, baby, and I will make you happy, as happy as you make me." He whispered, a sweet smile curling pretty lips, lips I had kissed, lips speaking words I had always wanted to hear, words causing pain now.

Hands reached for each others face, tears streaming down my face as I cried silently, lips soothingly kissing every drop away, his forehead against mine as our breaths mixed with our pain equally cutting deep like the treacherous hope blooming in the darkest corners of our hearts, the place we kept its desires hidden for the sake of the greater good.

"You know I want to, dear God, I want this, I want you. But, Christian, you know.." My words were interrupted with one of his long fingers pressing against my lips, the urge to cry loudly growing with each second we had to endure the torture we inflicted ourselves.

"I would fight for you." He said firmly, shaking his head against mine with squeezed eyes. "I would fight every men your father brought all by myself just for the tiny chance of you staying with me for the rest of our lives."

"Maybe." I muttered, my heart figuratively crushing into millions of pieces like glass, cutting deep for blood inside my chest. "But I can't risk losing you. Please don't make me feel responsible for your loss, too. I wouldn't survive it."

 _Mother's eyes, spiritless for once, looking into mine as her cold body lay on the floor, blood, her blood, staining her dress, the carpet beneath her and from then one my nightmares._

 _I didn't want to dream of his blood, blood he lost because of me, too._

"You said you were mine. You said yes." He reminded me, sounding desperate as he kept fighting a battle he had already lost, such a typical Christian move. Gray eyes starred into mine as intense as ever, reminding me of all the little memories we had together, strange pictures of the past crossing my eyes, all of them bundling here and now.

"I did. I am yours and you are mine." I nodded, forcing an encouraging smile, the phone ringing again in the background. "But I don't want our time together to start with the death of other people. Men will die tonight if we don't prevent it, Christian. My father won't back up from a fight and neither will yours. I should have known better, I shouldn't have come here in the first place, but I am just a silly girl in love. I wanted to see you, _I needed to see you tonight._ Please let me go tonight, even if it breaks our hearts, and I will promise you to come back once and for all."

Eyes squeezed tightly, he bit his lips, cursing softly before he hastily kissed the skin on my forehead over and over again, pulling me into a tight embrace, my cheek against his naked chest. I listened to his heart's beat, memorizing every flutter since it would keep me company at nights until the next time we saw us beside our weekly brunch with our families giving each other the stinky eye over yummy food and Mimosas. He promised me a better time, a better world in which we could be together, he promised me to build our own world if needed, he promised me safety, safety from our families and enemies, sometimes these things going hand in hand, asking only for one thing in return, something I gladly gave him as long as he gave me time.

 _Yes._

I barely heard Christian talking to Taylor as I got dressed, slipping into my panties and into my dress. It sounded like a heated argument, Christian soon enough switching to fluent Italian, maybe because he didn't want me to understand what he was saying. As if I could be bothered with details right now, my brain still clouded with the pain my heart was going through, goodbye's never having been one of my strengths, but I was sure saying goodbye to the man I loved would be the hardest thing I had ever done, especially after the one and only night we had gotten. I was sure things would be harder from now on, my father's ire awaiting me just like his merciless supervision, I wouldn't be surprised if he had his men following me starting tomorrow or worse if he kept his own eyes glued on me. I wondered how and if I would get a moment alone after tonight, calming my father down would cost me a few prayers – _God, do you really give a fuck about me? If so, please make everybody, except me and Christian, forget about tonight. That would be cool. Thank you and amen._ \- and maybe a few months locked in my childhood bedroom.

"Where are my shoes?" I muttered to myself, looking left and right with furrowed brows. Christian quickly got dressed after ending his phone call, approaching me with his hands immediately reaching for mine.

"They are in my office. Did you have a purse and a jacket?" He asked, one of his brows high on his forehead as he gave my dress one last disapproving look. I wondered what my father would do with said fabric, I was sure it would earn me a few names and titles, my behavior of tonight waiting to be called _a disgrace_. Fun times were ahead.

"Downstairs at the reception." I said, tilting my head as I regarded his narrowed eyes. "What did Taylor say? Everything alright downstairs?"

I snorted at my own questions, alright was certainly not the term fitting tonight's events, especially not since we were taking our sweet ass time getting dressed. I guessed things were already out of hand, we could at least make sure to enjoy our last moments together, no matter how selfish that sounded.

"Your father is here. He is waiting for you." He let out impassively, only his eyes giving away the storms rioting inside him.

All color left my face, my heart plopping as heavy as a stone. I had expected an army of mad Russians, I had expected my brothers even, but I had certainly not expected my father, the proud Raymond Timur Stepanow, setting his feet on Grey territory. I remembered him saying that he would rather get burned alive instead on a few occasions, his words always noted with eye rolls on my side since I had been bratty enough to think that he was being embarrassingly idiotic, but now that he had broken his own words I knew that his ire would be fatal. He would make sure I regretted tonight, not caring that it had been the best night of my life.

"And he is probably threatening to storm the building if we don't hurry up, right?" I tried to joke pathetically, the laugh leaving my mouth sounding weak, Christian's nod noted with a painful clench of my guts.

We took quick turns at the en suite bathroom, a hasty look into the mirror confirming my hunch about my current exterior state. I was a mess, thoroughly fucked with smudged make-up and chaotic tangles on my head, the lack of a comb or even a simple hair tie making my tries to look at least a little bit presentable a fight predestined to lose, my lipstick and all the products Kate had used on my eyes giving up after a wild round of rubbing them away with a wet tissue. With a sigh I gave up to save the issue of my hair, guessing it was either going to look messy or I had to shave it off with Christian's razors, the angry dragon inside my father's chest was probably going to chop of some heads when he saw my chaotic state. He would easily put two and two together, Christian's head being the first he would go after when he figured out that the enemy had had his wicked way with his one and only daughter.

I tried not to wonder what my father would do to Christian any longer as I put on my shoes when I was back in Christian's office, horrible scenarios crossing my mind, each of them I needed to prevent no matter at what cost. I hoped he would have one rational body left in his body after the hours of screaming he was going to put me through, maybe I could promise him to let him lock me up in a high tower protected by a dragon – a role perfect for Aunt Valentina – if he promised me not to harm the man I loved in exchange. I probably shouldn't use words like love while talking about Christian, though, no need to add fuel to the fire.

"Here. Take this." Christian said as he emerged from his bedroom, dressed in his clothes from earlier, his shirt crinkled and no longer smooth, holding a long, black coat a few sizes too big for me in his hand. He was wearing a similar one himself.

"I have a jacket downstairs." I protested softly, the look he gave me enough for me to shut up as he helped me slip into it, making sure to do up each and every button and tie the belt tightly around my waist, something I noted with raised brows and a smug grin, his motives obvious.

"Wouldn't want you to catch a cold." He muttered with reddish cheeks and a dark look toward me, warning enough for me not to question him. I was practically cocooned in heavy fabric from my neck to my calves, rolling the sleeves so I could see my own hands.

"Do you think we will see each other on Sunday?" I asked him as we slowly made our way downstairs, taking the stairs again but this time my feet remained on the floor. I noticed that the amount of bodyguards in the lobby had rose, a tense expression on each of their faces, the reception desk empty, all eyes on Christian when we took the last step down. My curiosity was peaked when one of them approached us swiftly, his brown eyes only looking at the man beside me, ignoring me completely.

I didn't get an answer to my question, not sure if I really wanted to know even but still wondering what would happen next time our families were in the same room. Christian's attention was on the brown eyed bodyguard, if he had the same questions as me, he didn't show them.

"T is waiting downstairs, boss. He had us evacuate the building just in case. We got everybody out from the backdoor."

"Thanks, Ryan. Get Anastasia's things from the reception and follow us downstairs." Christian ordered firmly, earning a surprised look.

"Taylor told me to accompany the lady, Sir. He advised that you should stay here." Ryan had to have a death wish, although I had to give him credit for his impassive tone as he spoke to his boss.

"I don't give a fuck about what Taylor said. Do as I told you." Christian said coolly, his hand squeezing mine tightly as he looked at me from the corner of his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line as he seemed to suppress the need to another set of words.

"Yes, Sir."

Christian lead me to the elevator I had took with Jack a few hours ago, time having lost meaning since I had set eyes on the beautiful man beside me tonight, my body only now registering the fatigue set deep in my stones caused by the excitement of tonight. My eyelids dropped as I slouched against Christian's body, one gallant arm around my waist immediately to support me and a worried look and a gentle kiss on my forehead giving to me.

"How are you feeling, baby?" He asked me with narrowed eyes, unbothered by his men standing around us with mastered impassive expressions set on their face when we were crowding the mirrored elevator, his body protecting mine from the others.

I blushed, feeling shy out of the blue, maybe because we had quite an audience pretending not to listen to every single one of our words.

"I certainly have felt better before." I whispered, biting my lip as anxiety waved through my exhausted body.

"And you will feel even better soon." He promised with a firm voice, pulling me even tighter against himself. I seriously hoped we would be able to hold that promise.

The atmosphere downstairs was frosty, the tension thick enough to be cut through. An anxious looking Taylor crowded with even more men, all of them not bothering to hide their guns, greeted us at the entrance which's glass doors gave us a view of what was expecting me.

Cars, endless seeming cars, all black and shiny with their motors still running had aligned at the bottom of the red carpeted stairs leading down, men with grim expressions waiting for orders from the one man standing at the end of the path with his hands crossed in front of him, the trademark violet scarf crookedly hanging around his neck where veins where pulsing angrily, his eyes the same icy blue I saw whenever I looked into the mirror and his wrinkles looking deeper than ever, he seemed to have aged overnight. Gray stubbles had grown on his clenched jaw, I knew he would get his weekly shaving on Sunday morning right before mass, as always making sure to keep up a good image for the always watching enemies, his hair chaotic on his head, the gray waves tugged at by his own hands in his frustration and anger.

He looked disappointed, a look I had always been used to and a look I had never given a fuck about, thinking that he couldn't hurt me even if he tried, but tonight I had a far too vulnerable spot and I knew he would make sure to attack it.

My blood brewed inside my veins as I suppressed a painful yelp, my hand tugging at Christian's. He stopped immediately, a few feet away from the glass door, a questioning look thrown toward me. Taylor followed our movements with hawk eyes, his hand at his hip underneath his black jacket where he was hiding his gun.

"I think you should stay here." I murmured, nonchalantly turning our bodies sideways so I wasn't looking into the furious eyes of my father.

"Bullshit. I'm getting you outside." He protested with pursed lips, behind him Taylor giving me an approving nod.

"Please. What good will that do? Let's keep interaction with my hotheaded father to a minimum for now, okay? I don't want you to get hurt." I pleaded with a pout, watching his expression soften even though he looked like he was battling wit himself.

"Anastasia, I don't want you to get hurt." He murmured with a clenched jaw, his eyes darting toward the door and then back to me, a worried expression crossing his face. I understood what he felt.

"The only way he could hurt me is by hurting you. He might be angry with me right now, but I doubt that he will slam-dunk me to the ground." I said with a shrug of my shoulders, trying to make him smile with my silly joke.

Not caring that my father who was most definitively beside himself with rage was watching us intently from outside, Christian took my face between his hands with a haunted expression, eyes squeezed tightly, his forehead wrinkled with worry, his lips kissing my nose gently, then my forehead over and over again with firm push of his mouth against my skin, my hands reaching for his as I lost control over the silent tears rolling down my cheeks, our last minutes together getting closer and closer to the end.

"I love you." We said over and over again, the sharp intakes of breaths of our bodies keeping time with each other, our pain equal just like our horrible fate.

I melted against him when his lips found mine, everything else losing meaning, as if we were alone, as if we were back in our bubble, our happy place where we weren't enemies, the world around us invisible.

If there was a God, I begged him to help us. If there was a God, I prayed to him for the first time since my mother's death to help me.

I barely took notice of the movements around us, Christian's men suddenly hasty as they took out their guns, pointing them toward the doors where my father's men were mirroring their moves, my father probably losing his mind when he saw me kissing the enemy.

"Next time." Christian whispered against my lips, making me nod.

"Next time." I said, _fucking finally_ promising him what he had been asking for all night long. "I will bring a white dress."

"You will be mine and I will be yours." He smiled, tiny drops of tears visible in his gray eyes, his words making my heart flutter.

"Forever."

When we were finally able to let go off each other, I left a piece of my heart and my soul with him, taking his pieces with me as a reminder of tonight, my father's furious eyes awaiting me outside in the chilly night of Seattle, the wind making me appreciate Christian's coat.

He didn't say a word to me, something I hadn't expected, his embarrassment obvious in his looks, though, fearing his men's judgment as usual, fearing the loss of his reputation, all of these things always having been more important that his family's happiness, a lesson I had learned with young age.

I suppressed the urge to scream at him, call him the names I had always been calling him in my head, deciding that making a scene would make things more complicated than they already were. It wasn't the right time to be a brat, I had to beat him with his own weapons.

"I have seen the enemy in the dark corner, _papa_. And I have fallen in love with him."

* * *

 _bellezza - beauty_

 _Vita mia – my life_

 _donna mia – my woman_

 _tesero – treasure_

* * *

 **THE END.**

 **Or not? ;)**

 **Announcement:** I am bamboozled with the reception this little compilation of one-shots got. You guys have rocked my world thoroughly with your demands for more, more and more. Sadly, I will not write more one-shots for the compilation called _Family Ties._

Please do not shed tears, though, since Christian and Anastasia will return in their own full story (soon as always).

I have been thinking about turning this into a full piece for quite some time now and with the unyielding tenacity of SOME PEOPLE (love you, boos), I have finally come around to at least get to planning and plotting the whole story.

If all things work out the way I have planned them (let's be honest, they won't probably since life is a bitch and I am a lazy cow), I will have the first chapters of the new story ready by summer 2018 (and not March, 19th like SOME PEOPLE expect me to :P ).

Further more information you will be able to get in my Facebook group called "PATIENCE OF A SAINT" where you are welcome.

Until then,

patience xoxo

 **P.S.** **This long ass chapter will be added to the one prior so this one-shot can be read in one total chapter just like I had originally planned it. I will wait a week or so to do that, so don't be confused when the chapter amount suddenly says 2 chapters only. Just look at the word count and you will see I didn't delete anything, just put the pieces together. Thank you.**


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